Descent and Ascent
by JoAnn Stuart
Summary: A string of false alarms bodes trouble for the crew of Station 51 and for one paramedic in particular. M for the type of violence you would see in R-rated movies in ch. 3 only. Everything else would play on TV these days.
1. Chapter 1

**Descent & Ascent **

By JoAnn Stuart

The events in this story follow "After The Exam" and "Cave In," which should be read first.

**Please note:**

This story is rated M for one scene of intense violence in ch. 3; Adult themes; Language. While this is primarily a tale of _recovery_, the violence is vividly depicted. This story is not suitable for all readers.

"Descent and Ascent" (c)1999 JoAnn Stuart. "Emergency!" and its characters (c) Mark VII Productions, Inc. and Universal Studios. All rights reserved. No infringement of any copyrights or trademarks is intended or should be inferred. The settings and characters are fictitious, even when a real name may be used. Any similarity to actual persons, living or deceased, or to actual events is purely coincidental and is not intended to suggest that the events described actually occurred.

To my first editor: I gave you bad dreams and you gave me nightmares. And now I give you my deepest and most sincere thanks for the invaluable gift of your time and friendship. To my second editor: Thank you for the gift of your patience and support during the long and painful transition stage, and for the days spent in preparing this for publication. I am forever grateful. To CJ: Thank you for hosting this on your site. Originally posted on **Station 51**


	2. Chapter 2

**April, 1977**

The squad backed into the engine bay. Two doors slammed. One hand slapped the hood of the squad.

"I cannot believe this! How many does this make now?" fumed Johnny.

"I don't know. Lots," Roy replied with an equal amount of vexation.

For the past two weeks, the paramedics on A-shift had responded to three times as many false alarms as legitimate calls. Occasionally, the location turned out to be an empty lot. Other times, they arrived at the home of a puzzled, often irate citizen who had not called for assistance. Frequently, the call led to a public place, where the paramedics wasted a lot of time trying to ascertain if they were really needed or not.

"Engine's gone. Think it's legit?"

"I don't know. I guess we'll find out."

The engine also spent a lot of time on bogus or minor calls, most of which turned out to be Dumpster fires or small rubbish fires. The net result yielded a station manned by a progressively edgy and snappish crew.

The engine returned before the two paramedics made it into the kitchen, and they waited by the doorway until Mike Stoker finished parking the rig. Two more doors slammed and four very irate men stalked across the engine bay, expressions grim.

"Another Dumpster fire?"

"Not even that! Just a little pile of rubbish someone set fire to in an alley," grumbled Cap. "I sure wish they'd catch these jokers."

"Jokers isn't the word I'd use. I'd use mother..."

"Knock it off, Kelly."

Both police detectives and fire investigators worked on the case, but had been able to make virtually no headway in solving it. The biggest problem lay in that all the calls originated from pay phones, many of which were not even in the same area as the ersatz emergencies. The only constant in the pattern seemed to be the involvement of A-shift of Station 51. Each crewmember was thoroughly interviewed in an attempt to discover possible reasons for the nuisance calls. None of the leads panned out.

Six frustrated men sat around the table, drinking coffee in an angry silence. They had talked and talked about the situation until nothing more remained to be said. Between the coffee and the stress, they would all develop ulcers if the situation continued. Finally, Cap couldn't stand it any more. "Okay, men. Sitting around here isn't doing us any good. What say we do some knot drills?"

Five groans answered the query.

"That wasn't a suggestion!" Cap responded with no little acerbity. "Move it!"

Five men scrambled to obey their captain's order.

* * *

Morning brought a less-than-perfect end to yet another less-than-perfect shift. Both the squad and the engine returned to the station in the early-dawn hour. They, along with several other companies, spent a large part of the night in battling a fire in an abandoned warehouse. No one was injured, but the blaze had been stubborn. Arson investigators were called in to examine the burned-out shell. The deserted building had neither electricity nor combustible chemicals when the flames broke out, making the likelihood of fire remote. It appeared that the fire was deliberately set.

Roy and Johnny trudged tiredly to the parking lot behind the station.

"Do you think the arson could be related to the false alarms we've been getting?" Johnny asked his partner

Roy shrugged. "No. Do you?"

"I don't know. Not really. Listen, I'm going to go for a run and do some other stuff before coming over to your place to help with Susan's playhouse." He looked at his watch. "I'll be there after lunch."

"Okay. I hope you're planning to stay for dinner. I'm doing steaks."

"Oh, man, you know you don't even have to ask! I'll bring my secret sauce."

* * *

Ever since he was a child, Johnny had always run more for the sheer joy of running than for the exercise it provided. He loved the physical aspect when the rhythm of his breathing sang in concert with his pulse and his feet, as well as the spiritual aspect when his mind broke free and he was no longer a man running, but running itself. He quickly changed into shorts and a T-shirt, tossing his other clothes, car keys and wallet on the bed.

Ten minutes later, he entered the nearby park where he preferred to run when he couldn't get out of the city. He'd been running faithfully ever since he and Mike decided to compete in the Las Vegas International Marathon in February of the following year. Once a week, the two of them went out together for longer runs in the unincorporated areas of the County. On working days, he had to run quite early in the morning, long before the sun rose, sticking to the well-lit streets in order to avoid accidentally stepping in a pothole in the dark.

But on the other days, this park offered a delightful alternative. He could almost imagine that he ran outside of the city. Little traffic flowed through the nearby streets, and the trees and shrubbery helped shield the footpaths from the noise and fumes, creating the illusion of being in the great outdoors instead of in the dirty, gritty city. He ran later in the morning on his days off, which yielded an unexpected bonus of the non-spiritual kind; namely, the proximity of the park to the university. This meant that there were lots of good-looking coeds out walking, jogging or running when he ran.

John Gage was a man who loved women. All women. He truly liked them. From little girls to grey-haired grandmothers, he flirted with them all, and, for the most part, they seemed to enjoy flirting back as well. He rarely lacked a date when he wanted one. While he knew that part of his luck came from his tall, dark, good looks and the allure of his profession as a firefighter, he also believed that he himself had a lot to do with his ability to attract women.

As he ran, he greeted many of the coeds with a cheery hello. He jogged alongside a couple of girls for a few minutes, chatting them up, before resuming his faster pace. An awesome-looking blond with legs up to her neck momentarily distracted him. He hadn't seen her before and he jogged backwards for a minute, appreciating the splendid rear view. Always on the lookout for a new catch, he debated running after her. Problem was, after he caught a woman, he didn't really know what to do with her. Most of his relationships fizzled after two weeks; he didn't seem to be able to sustain anything longer than that. Nevertheless, he kept looking for 'the one' with whom he could commit for life.

Still thinking about the blond, he ran past a clump of underbrush where he thought he heard the sound of someone moaning. He almost ran on without stopping, but his sense of duty and curiosity got the better of him. Doubling back, he called out, "Is anyone there?"

When another moan for help answered his query, Johnny quickly pushed through the brush to find a red-haired man lying face down on the ground. Johnny knelt down and touched the man on the shoulder. "Sir? Are you all right?"

In one quick motion the man rolled over and shoved a gun into Johnny's belly. "Hello, skinny boy," Toby Barnes said with an insidious grin of triumph. "Don't move, or you're dead."


	3. Chapter 3

Johnny froze in disbelief, mouth open. He and Barnes had briefly worked together at Station 127 the previous November, and their relationship would not have been described as amicable: Barnes bore Johnny a grudge. Gage could scarcely breathe as a burgeoning dread stole his breath and twisted his gut when he remembered Barnes' parting words to him: 'You're mine, Gage.' Only Johnny's eyes moved as he watched Barnes shift to his knees, the pressure of the gun in Johnny's belly never slackening as Barnes rose.

"Get up." Barnes ordered, stabbing harder with the bore of the weapon, drawing a gasp from Johnny. Both men stood. Barnes grabbed Johnny's right arm and jerked him around, shoving the gun into Johnny's ribs. "Start walking."

"What are you doing, Barnes?" Johnny croaked as he finally managed to make his mouth work.

"Shut up and walk." Barnes emphasized his command with another stab of the pistol. They pushed through the underbrush and Barnes steered Johnny over to an old, beat-up, blue sedan parked at the nearby curb.

"Get in and slide over behind the wheel. Don't even think about trying to pull anything. I don't care if you're dead or not."

Johnny complied, heart beating as if he had just completed a 400-metre dash. His mind scurried in panicked circles, trying to think of something, anything, to distract Barnes and make his escape.

Barnes climbed in after Johnny, pulling a set of keys from his pocket. "Drive."

Johnny ran a dry tongue over dry lips. "Where to?"

"Over to the industrial park."

"Barnes…"

"Shut up and drive, skinny boy. Don't do anything stupid. Oh, I forgot. That's going to be pretty hard for you." Barnes laughed nastily.

Johnny did as he was told. Although the drive lasted only minutes, it felt like forever to Johnny. The air felt thick, hard to breathe and everything had a slightly wavy quality to it, as if seen and heard under water. As they entered the industrial park area, Barnes directed Johnny to pull the car around to the back of an old meat processing plant that recently shut down.

"Turn off the engine and hand me the keys." After Johnny complied, Barnes backed out of the passenger seat, keeping the weapon trained on his victim. "Get out."

As Johnny reached for the door handle on the driver's side, Barnes barked, "No! Come out this side." Once Johnny exited the car, Barnes again shoved the bore of the pistol against his ribs. Kicking the car door shut with his heel, Barnes ordered, "Walk!" and steered Johnny over to a door in the side of the building. "Open it."

Barnes pushed Johnny through the doorway. "Don't move." The two stood still, their eyes adjusting to the dusty light within the factory. An unmistakable odor of meat still clung to the air, mixed with something else. Although the processing plant had only been shut down for a few months, the building already smelled of disuse.

"Start walking." Barnes prodded Johnny forward with the gun.

"What do you want?"

"Shut up." As they neared the doorway leading to the next room, Barnes forcefully shoved Johnny up against the wall. Johnny managed to turn his head in time, to avoid breaking his nose, although the side of his face banged and scraped against the concrete. Barnes held one hand to the back of Johnny's neck, keeping the gun pressed to Johnny's right side.

"What do I want? Well, for starters, I'd like my job back, but you took care of that, didn't you? You screwed up everything for me, and I'm here to return the favor. Like I told you before. You're mine, skinny boy." Barnes slowly dragged the gun up the side of Johnny's body, stopping at the neck. Switching hands, he ordered, "Turn around."

Leaning across Johnny's windpipe with his left forearm, Barnes slammed a fist into Johnny's belly several times in succession. "Looks like you're gonna need a paramedic," he guffawed, releasing Johnny and stepping back a pace.

Doubled over and retching, Johnny tried to placate the man. "Barnes! Please! What do you want? Put the gun down. We can work this out." Toby Barnes outweighed him by at least 40 to 50 pounds and Johnny seriously doubted his ability to best him even in a fair fight. But he figured he certainly would have a better chance of defending himself if a weapon were not part of the equation. Maybe the terror he felt would even give him an edge. At the very least, he knew he could outrun Barnes if he had the chance.

Barnes slammed him back into the wall after he spoke, and Johnny braced himself for the blow that he thought would follow. But Barnes stepped back again and tucked the gun into his waistband.

"C'mon, skinny boy! Let's work it out! Think you're man enough to take me?" He grinned ferally, arms open wide, seemingly inviting Johnny to attack.

Johnny launched himself at Barnes, aiming for the face. He got in a couple of good punches before Barnes' fist smashed into his face. Johnny staggered back, tasting blood from a split lip and seeing stars. Another blow spun him around, and he fell heavily to his hands and knees. 'Get up! Run!' shrieked a voice in his head.

A vicious kick caught him in the ribs, stealing his breath away and setting his side on fire. He rolled away, but a booted foot followed wherever he went, until he managed to roll under a butcher's block. He lay, gasping on the floor, sinking into a red-hot quicksand of pain.

"You can't hide forever under there, skinny boy. Get out here."

Johnny heard the hammer of the gun click and he crawled out. Holding his battered ribs, he gingerly stood up.

"Not so high and mighty, now, skinny boy!" jeered Barnes. "You paramedics looked pretty fuckin' stupid, chasing after those false alarms every day. And your firehouse buddies rollin' up with the big rig to put out puny, little Dumpster fires was a fuckin' joke!"

"How do you know about that?"

"You're dumber than you look, skinny boy. I jerked you around like puppets on a string."

Realization dawned. "How could you do that? You're a fireman!"

"Used to be a fireman, thanks to you. Get back over there." Barnes indicated the wooden butcher's block, under which Johnny tried to hide earlier, with a wave of the gun.

Johnny's face flushed with anger, his voice raspy. "Go to hell!"

"You first, skinny boy." Barnes stepped forward, grasping a wad of Johnny's T-shirt as he yanked him closer, and raised the gun to Johnny's temple. "What's it gonna be?"

Choice made, Johnny stumbled over to the table, keeping a wary eye on Barnes and the gun. Barnes gave him a shove and Johnny's hip slammed painfully into the worn, wooden block.

"You're still pretty uppity, skinny boy! Time to teach you a lesson." Barnes unzipped his pants.

Johnny stared at Barnes in disbelief.

Then Barnes waved the gun at Johnny's waist. "Take 'em off."

Johnny shook his head minutely in numbed shock. He felt as if he were encased in ice. His mind went blank. Time ceased to flow. This couldn't be happening.

Barnes repeated his command. "Do it!"

Johnny remained frozen in place, eyes filled with terror, the sound of his breathing harsh in his ears.

Enraged, Barnes again grabbed Johnny's T-shirt and yanked him up against his body. "I said do it!" he hissed, digging the gun into the skin at Johnny's temple.

Johnny found his voice. "Do what? I don't know what you want!"

Barnes only answer was to pull back the hammer on the gun. Johnny closed his eyes and swallowed. "No, please..." he whispered. "You don't want to do this, man. Don't...don't kill me."

"Take 'em off. I'm not telling you again." He shoved Johnny backward against the butcher's block.

Hands shaking, eyes never leaving Barnes' face, Johnny complied, and let his running shorts fall around his ankles. "Jockstrap, too." Johnny removed that as well. Instinctively, he tried to cover himself with his hands. Barnes just laughed. "Move your hands, skinny boy. Let's see what you got." His eyes shone cold, hard, animal-like, and Johnny didn't doubt for a minute that Barnes meant to kill him.

Barnes looked him over with a smirk. "Turn around and bend over." Barnes indicated the worktable with a wave of the gun. Johnny turned his back on Barnes, leaned over the table and closed his eyes, unable to do anything but obey.

"You fucked with me, and I'm gonna fuck with you."

"Barnes, no, please..." Johnny started to turn around, but Barnes cracked the gun against the side of the paramedic's skull, and stars exploded in front of his eyes. He started to slide off the table as his legs buckled under him, but Barnes grabbed his hair and jerked him back up.

"Stay awake, skinny boy. I want you to feel this!"

Johnny prayed for unconsciousness. But his mind was trapped, alert in his body, just as surely as Barnes trapped his body on the table. There was no escape. Fear seized him, stopping his thoughts, stealing his breath, paralyzing his muscles. Freezing him to the table. Then he felt hands, rough, merciless, grabbing him, invading him, burning wherever they touched. A terrific weight on his back pushed him against the cold, damp wood of the table. Then came a fiery, rending pain, so deep, so sharp, and so intense, he thought he'd been stabbed. White-hot lightning bolts of pain arced through the core of his being as Barnes shifted, and Johnny felt, rather than heard, the raw, visceral scream erupt from his throat. Barnes shifted again and again, grabbing Johnny's shoulders. He felt the fingers digging into his flesh, felt the hard edge of the table digging into his groin with each thrust, and screamed again in pain and denial.

He heard Barnes' harsh breathing, felt the foul breath hot on his neck, smelled the sour, stale scent of beer. He heard his own ragged breaths, a counterpoint to Barnes', and the wet sound of flesh slamming against flesh. Barnes' low, mocking laughter rang in his ears and echoed in his head. Barnes hands left his shoulders and resumed their ministrations, pulling and tugging. Johnny gasped in shame as he felt the humiliating betrayal by his own body. He willed it to stop as he focused on his own hands, gripping the edge of the table, his knuckles whitening under the pressure, but he couldn't make his body cease its disgraceful response. No control. Blood from his cut lip seeped into his mouth, salty, metallic, tasting like fear. He gagged. And permeating it all, the cloying odor of raw meat.

Then, it was over. The weight lifted from his back, the pressure abated, the pain receded, and nothing held him to the table any longer. He slid to the floor in a boneless heap, existing in an oasis of shocked numbness. Lying there, he calmly wondered who might find his body after Barnes finished with him. Then Barnes yanked him to his knees.

He couldn't make out the words over the screaming in his head. He knew Barnes was talking to him, ordering him to do something unspeakable. Johnny shook his head, thinking that he would far prefer to die now, since Barnes intended to kill him anyway, until the gun pressed against his forehead, and he made his choice to live. The horror began again and continued on and on until, completely, mercifully unaware of his surroundings, he slipped into darkness.

He heard a voice from far away, mocking him, and then felt a boot connect once again with his ribs. The pain roused him from his haze and he woke, gagging. His stomach tried to exit through his throat and he heaved what felt like the contents of his body onto the floor.

Apparently tired of his sport, Barnes backed away from where Johnny now lay shivering on the floor, eyes closed. "I don't think I'll kill you today after all, skinny boy," he laughed.

Johnny opened his eyes and looked at Barnes, his face devoid of expression.

Barnes gazed down at him with a satisfied smirk. "Remember, you're mine." He nudged his victim with a foot. "You count to a thousand, and then you can leave." With that, Barnes turned and exited.

Johnny listened to the retreating footsteps, his breath coming in short gasps, his eyes focusing on nothing. He curled up into a trembling ball and lay unmoving as he tried to count. He couldn't focus on the numbers. He knew only one thing... he was alive.

He started to retch again and the dry heaves went on forever, each convulsion stabbing at his bruised ribs, aggravating the deep pain in his gut and in his back. When the retching subsided, he managed to get to his knees. He groped around for his shorts, then slowly and painfully pulled them back on. Using the butcher's block for support, he pulled himself to his feet. Staggering, he lurched out into the late morning sunlight with just one objective in mind: get as far away as possible from where he was.


	4. Chapter 4

Johnny remembered only vague impressions of the journey home. Most people averted their faces or crossed over to the other side of the walk as he stumbled past. A few hands reached out to offer assistance, but he brushed them away. An hour later, Johnny reached the haven of his apartment, glad that most of the residents of the building were not about, and he succeeded in making his way upstairs without seeing or being seen by anyone.

After locking the door behind him, he tilted a chair beneath the knob, to serve as an extra brace against intruders.

He stood motionless in the kitchen for several long minutes, and then began to assess the damage. Taking a couple of deep, experimental breaths, he gently palpated his ribs. They burned like hell, but nothing felt broken. He winced as his fingers touched the lump on his head. It stung and he thought it must have been bleeding earlier. Panting slightly as his legs began to tremble in response to a wave of pain that rolled through his belly, he stumbled over to the bathroom.

Johnny studied his reflection in the mirror. The trail of dried blood dripping down from his hairline confirmed his earlier suspicion. The split lip and the abrasions and the bruises appeared no worse than he expected. But the eyes staring back at him belonged to a stranger.

Stepping into the shower fully clothed, he turned the water temperature up as hot as he could stand. He stripped off his T-shirt and running shorts, kicking them to the far side of the stall. He scrubbed and scrubbed, unable to get clean. Tears, blood and sweat swirled down the drain, as he slid down the tiled wall, sobbing, wishing he could disappear down the drain as well. He stayed crouched under the spray until long after the hot water run out, until finally, teeth chattering, the shivers drove him from the shower.

After toweling off, he reached for the toothbrush. As the toothpaste began to foam in his mouth, he choked. He hurriedly spit it out and managed to control the gagging before vomiting this time, and settled for using mouthwash instead.

While he was getting dressed in the bedroom, the phone rang. Startled, he glanced at the clock. The face read almost half past one. "Dammit." He had forgotten about his promise to Roy. As he stood listening to the rings, unable to decide whether or not to answer it, the decision was made for him when it stopped ringing.

Returning the towel to the bathroom, he saw the sodden lump of clothing still inside the shower. With a jerk of the wrist, he yanked the curtain closed and slammed the bathroom door shut on the way out, then stood motionless outside the doorway for several long minutes. Seized by a restless energy, he began to pace agitatedly between the kitchen and the living room, stopping to peer out the window after each circuit, navigating like a lost plane eternally circling in a dense fog, unable to locate the control tower.

The ringing of the phone once again startled him and he automatically crossed the room to pick it up, jarred out of his holding pattern. "Hello?"

"Hey, Junior! What's up? I thought you said you were coming over. Susan is getting pretty impatient for her Uncle Johnny."

"Uh…" He thought furiously for a plausible excuse. He began pacing again in a tight circle, tethered by the phone cord. "I'm sorry. I meant to call you. I… uh… I don't feel so good right now."

"Oh? What's wrong?"

He grasped at the first thought that entered his head. Vomiting. His insides felt like they were destroyed. "Uh… I guess it's the flu or something."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Guess those steaks will have to wait until another time."

"Uh, yeah. Look, I gotta go."

"Okay. Take care. See you Thursday."

Johnny hung up the phone and gazed into space. What was he going to do about work on Thursday? How would he explain the cuts and bruises on his face? He hadn't even thought that far ahead. A sudden panic washed over him and he resumed his flight pattern. Five paces to the wall. Turn. Ten paces to the kitchen. Twelve paces around the table. Twenty paces around the living room to the window. Move the curtain aside and look out. Five paces to the wall. Turn.

He stopped short when he barked his shin on the leg of the kitchen chair he had used to brace the door. When had the apartment gotten so dark? He groped for the light over the stove and cringed at the sudden brightness when it flickered on. The clock above the sink read almost eight o'clock.

For lack of something better to do, he opened the refrigerator and stared inside. As usual, the shelves were almost empty, but a six-pack of beer sat on one shelf. He grabbed it, planning to use it to induce forgetfulness. Maybe when he woke up, it would turn out to have all been a nightmare. He pulled the tab off the beer and brought the can to his lips. The instant he smelled the brew, his stomach convulsed and he heaved into the sink. Nothing but bitter bile came up. Breathing through his mouth, he dumped the beer into the drain and ran the water for several minutes. Then leaning down, he rinsed out his mouth under the faucet, and spit into the sink several times.

Returning to the living room, he switched on the television, but the tinny sound of canned laughter from the sitcom irritated him. He flipped the channels, but could find nothing better to distract him, so he finally turned it off and lay down on the sofa, left arm over his head.

He must have dozed for a while, because the sound of someone whimpering woke him up. Confused, Johnny glanced around the room, unable to locate the source. Then, he realized it must have been him making the pitiful, mewling sounds. Rolling onto his side, he curled up into a little ball and, hugging the pillow to his chest, began to cry soundlessly.

Face stiff with dried tears, he lay very still, hoping that the lack of movement would ease his pain. His head and face throbbed with every beat of his heart. His ribs hurt with every breath. His back hurt. His gut hurt. He felt a sticky wetness and knew something was seeping. It scared him, wondering how bad it was, since he couldn't see, only touch. Johnny pushed himself up off the sofa and headed to the bathroom for another shower.

Like before, he stayed under the hot, stinging spray as long as he could, and when the water began to cool, he left the shower. This time fear and fatigue rather than the icy temperature of the water caused his trembling. There was no way he would see a doctor. What to do? His mind raced like a rodent on an exercise wheel, endlessly running, getting nowhere. Who could he ask? Making an anonymous call to an emergency department carried too much risk; someone might recognize his voice. Johnny pulled out the phone book and turned to the front section, scanning the emergency information. Printed there on the inside cover was a number for a rape crisis center.

"Mercy General Rape Crisis Center. My name is Christy. How may I help you?"

"Uh… my girlfriend was raped and I've got a question," he said hesitantly, starting to shiver.

"Yes? Please continue."

"Uh…" His voice caught, so he cleared his throat. "She doesn't want to go to the doctor. Will it heal by itself or will it need stitches?"

"She really should be seen by a physician. We can make arrangements…"

"No! No doctors!" Breathing became more difficult and it felt like a band constricted his chest while tremors shook his body.

"It's okay, sir. Try to remain calm. Sir? Sir?" The woman's voice sounded distant, as if coming out of a long tunnel. It took him three tries to hang up the phone. The call had not been a good idea.

Still shivering, he crawled under the covers in his bed. He checked the alarm clock on the bedside table. It said midnight. Surely that couldn't be right? Time was passing so quickly. He lay in bed, feeling like he would never be warm. Sleep eluded him as well, as every time he began to doze off, images from his ordeal would start to play against the screen provided by his closed eyelids. Finally he slept.

_A beautiful day. He was jogging...checking the chicks in the park, a hunter on the prowl. He ran past a clump of bushes, and a strange sound caused him to stop in his tracks. Before he could investigate, a lion with a shaggy, red mane leapt from the tangle of vegetation. There was no time to wonder what a lion was doing in the park, he just knew he had to get away. He ran faster than he had ever run in his life, but it was no use, the beast was still behind him. No matter how fast he ran, the lion still pursued him. Lungs heaving, pulse pounding staccato in his brain, he fled deeper into the park. Beneath him, the earth changed from hard-packed dirt to sticky mud. It pulled at his feet with a wet, sucking sound, slowing his flight. The lion drew nearer. He could feel the heat of the beast, smell the stink of raw flesh in the fetid breath. He sensed the coiled power ready to spring, and screamed as steel talons ripped into his flesh. The lion's densely muscled body threw him to the ground like a rag doll, and pinned him there, helpless. He looked up into the beast's bright eyes, and saw Barnes laughing at him._

Johnny yelled, sweat pouring off him as his arms and legs tangled in the bedding. Finally freeing himself, he gingerly sat on the edge of the bed. What time was it now? The face of the clock read half past one. Sticky with sweat and head pounding, he decided to take another shower.

This time he showered quickly and finished before the water started to turn cold. But now he was shivering anyway, and some part of his brain recognized the signs of shock and he knew he needed fluids. Something hot sounded appealing, so he went into the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil, leaning against the wall while he waited. Sitting down and getting back up out of a chair was too uncomfortable and too much work. When the coffee was ready, he stood at the sink, just in case, hands wrapped around the mug. He took a cautious sip. It stayed down. He tried another. It, too, stayed down. He finished the coffee and glanced up at the clock. Quarter past two. Now Johnny felt like he had fallen into a time warp; he could not remember another time when the hands of the clock had moved so slowly. What to do? Too tired to pace the apartment any longer, nothing to watch on television, no desire to eat, the only other options left appeared to be lying down on the sofa or lying down on the bed. Both seemed equally unappealing and he couldn't decide. The coffee warming his belly relaxed him somewhat, the small amount of caffeine having no noticeable effect. Suddenly, reacting to the sensation of falling, he jerked awake with a start. Apparently, he was sleeping on his feet. Scrubbing a weary hand across his eyes, he finally chose the sofa.

Johnny lay on the sofa in the state between waking and sleeping, body aching, vivid memories returning in surreal bits and snatches as the assault played over and over. He couldn't control his body. He couldn't control his mind. He was too exhausted to do anything more than just lay there and breathe. Finally he slept.

_He stood inside a cavernous building. Bloody mangled carcasses hung from hooks-what they had once been, man or beast, he didn't know. No one else was there. The emptiness echoed his footsteps, the quiet of the place buzzed in his ears. The only other sound was the drip, drip, drip of blood, trickling from the corpses, hitting the cold, concrete floor. He was alone, and afraid. A weak cry-Human? Animal?- whimpered from behind a wooden table. Hesitantly, he crouched down to look. A man lay there, huddled and shivering. He reached out a hand to touch him, but a voice shrieked, "Run! Run!" Terrified, he fled, running down a seemingly endless, empty corridor with no doors, listening for the sound of footsteps following behind. The air grew colder as he ran, chilling his hands, numbing his legs, icing his blood. A figure stood at the end of the corridor, and he ran towards it, looking for help. He grabbed the man, and turned him around._

_"Hello, skinny boy," smirked the man. No! He tried to run, only to find that his feet had frozen to the floor. Then Barnes was all over him, he was everywhere, touching, laughing, hurting, oh god, it hurt. Then Barnes dragged him back to the room of carcasses, and hung him up, bleeding and broken, but still alive._

The phone rang. Startled, he bolted upright, then gasped as waves of pain rolled through his body, protesting the sudden movement. Picking up the phone, he croaked a hello into the receiver.

After a brief pause on the other end, Mike's concerned voice asked, "Johnny? Are you okay?"

Mike! He had forgotten all about his plans to go running with Mike this morning. "Uh… Hey, sorry, I forgot to call you. I… ah… I got the flu or something. Can't kee' anything dow'." The split lip made it difficult to speak clearly.

"Oh, that's too bad. Well, you take care and I'll see you later."

"Yeah, bye." Johnny started to twist around to hang up the phone, but stopped as pain from his protesting ribs knifed through him. If anything, he felt worse now than he had a few hours earlier, now that stiffness had begun to set in. He shifted his weight, which set fire to his belly and his back. Damn! How was he going to get off the sofa? Using his arms, he gingerly scooted himself to the edge of the sofa and leaned forward, bracing his arms on his legs, pushing himself up. Damn, that hurt! Panting slightly, he slowly made his way over to the bathroom in search of aspirin. By the time he got there, shivers wracked his body once more, whether from the exertion or the beginnings of a fever he didn't know. He searched the medicine cabinet for the bottle of aspirin. Where the hell did he put it the last time he used it? Maybe the kitchen. Moving as if he were made out of spun glass that the slightest careless movement might shatter, he made a pain-filled trek to the kitchen. A search of the cabinets yielded nothing. Leaning against the refrigerator, he couldn't stop the tears of pain and frustration from once again squeezing out as his knees buckled. He slid down to the floor, curled up in a ball and cried. Quieting after a while, listening to the hum of the refrigerator and comforted by the warm air gently blowing on his back from the refrigerator fan, he fell back asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Johnny stared at his reflection in the mirror. The split lip, scrapes and bruises still looked rather spectacular. Should he call in sick today? He could in all honesty say that he had not been able to keep any food down for two days. He made the call.

The word to describe the way he felt was 'crap.' Every part of his body ached and his mouth tasted terrible. The lack of food weakened him and a low-grade fever contributed to his dizziness. Johnny knew he was probably slightly dehydrated, which made everything worse. Long after hanging up the phone, he stood leaning against the back of the sofa, trying to muster the energy to take a shower. Since he never found the aspirin, he would have to use the shower to combat the fever.

When he pulled the shower curtain open, he saw those damned running clothes still wadded up in the corner of the stall. Resolutely ignoring them, he turned on the shower and stayed under a tepid spray for a long time, trying to reduce the fever, opening his mouth from time to time, allowing the water to run in. He managed to swallow some without gagging and when the water finally turned cold, he got out. Exhausted from standing so long, he lay down on the bed and fell back asleep. He spent the rest of the day alternating between taking showers and sleeping.

* * *

_The sky was red, blood red, and the landscape, a burned-over wasteland. As he ran, an arid wind blew, sucking the moisture and life out of the land, but he didn't mind. In fact, he felt strong. He could feel his pulse with every stride and his blood sang in his ears. A dark shape appeared on the horizon and he increased his speed, closing the distance, until finally he leapt upon his quarry, knocking him onto the searing pavement. He sat astride his prey, grinning ferally as he recognized his victim. A knife appeared in his hand and he plunged it into Barnes, over and over, reveling as the man screamed in horror beneath him. It was music to his ears, and he was sorry when the screaming stopped and Barnes lay still. Barnes' blood spattered his face, his chest, his arms, and dripped, sizzling onto the black asphalt. He stood over his kill, a triumphant roar erupting from his throat. He tried to wipe the blood from his hands, but it was hot like the red sun, hot like acid, burning him wherever it touched. He watched in horror and screamed as it ate holes in his skin, and he dissolved into nothingness next to Barnes' corpse._

Johnny blindly rolled away, falling off the sofa. The impact jolted through his bruised ribs, then as nausea from the nightmare overtook him, he began to retch, which resulted in more pain, trapping him in a cycle he couldn't break. Finally, the heaving subsided, Johnny pushed himself to a seated position on the floor where he sat, panting, for a few long minutes. Then he hauled himself to his feet to get some water to rinse out his mouth.

He spit into the sink several times. He started to shake. Rage boiled up from the depths of his soul. He hated Toby Barnes with hatred blacker than midnight on a moonless night. Wilson was wrong. No forgiveness would make this right. Johnny stared at the glass in his hand, then hurled it across the room where it shattered against the door in a thousand little shards. The teakettle from the stove followed the arc that the glass had made. Nothing else remained on the counter to throw. He kicked first at the rubbish bin, strewing trash over the kitchen floor, then, at the chair that stuck out from under the doorknob, sending it crashing to the ground. He knocked a pile of bills and newspapers from the small stand by the door onto the floor with a sweep of his hand. Next, the stand sailed through the living room and hit the television, cracking the screen. Crossing the room in three long strides, he picked up the stand and smashed it over and over into the television until pieces of glass and bits of wood littered the carpet. He grabbed the standing lamp next to the television, yanking the cord from the wall and flung it away like a javelin. A vicious kick to the coffee table overturned it and sent it skidding halfway across the room. The cushions from the sofa hit the bookshelves with a satisfying thunk, knocking several books as well as his radio to the floor. A trophy from his high school track and field days teetered on the edge of the top shelf and then fell to the ground, breaking in half. How he hated Barnes! But, most of all, he hated himself. What kind of man was he, to let this happen to him? Johnny slowly sank to his knees, holding his ribs, breathless sobs forcing him to double over amidst the shattered wreckage of his life.

Several minutes later, an insistent rapping on the door coincided with a loud voice. "Police!"

Johnny stared at the door in mute shock. The neighbors must have heard him trashing his apartment and called the police. When the knock and the voice sounded again, he called out, "Coming!" Painfully pushing himself up off the floor with a muttered curse, he paused in the act of opening the door. Maybe it wasn't the police after all. Maybe Barnes followed him to the apartment. "Who is it?"

"Police. Would you open the door, sir?"

Unable to decide which was worse, Johnny futilely wiped a hand over his eyes and nose, then reluctantly opened the door just enough to ascertain that the voice at the door did indeed belong to a police officer. "Can I see some ID?"

One of the men flipped open his shield. "We got a complaint of a disturbance from one of your neighbors. Mind if we come in?"

"Uh, yes, actually, I do."

"Got anybody in there with you?"

"No."

"Look. Don't make us get a warrant. Just let us do our job and take a quick look around to make sure everything is okay."

With a sigh, Johnny opened the door to admit the two officers. Their expressions registered no change as they observed the emotional evidence on his face and surveyed the damage in the apartment. "What happened to you, Mr…?" queried the first officer, pulling out his notepad.

"Gage. John Gage. Uh, I got mugged a couple of days ago."

The officer nodded, writing. The injuries on this man's face did look three or four days old. "Did you report it?"

"No."

"Would you like to file a report?"

"No."

"What happened here?" asked the second officer, gesturing at the destruction.

"Uh… I'm redecorating."

That comment did garner a reaction. "Did you go to the Wrecking Ball Academy for Interior Design?"

Johnny made no reply, but folded his arms in an attempt to hide his embarrassment as the color rose in his cheeks.

"Mind if we check the other rooms?"

"Go ahead," Johnny waved in the direction of the bedroom.

After a cursory examination of the rest of the apartment, the two police officers returned to the doorway where Johnny stood waiting for them. "Mr. Gage, are you sure everything is all right?"

Johnny nodded his head and clamped his jaw shut.

"We advise you to keep your, uh, redecorating attempts a bit more quiet, so you don't disturb your neighbors. And, if you need anything, give us a call."

Johnny nodded again, then closed the door behind the two men, leaning heavily on it for a minute. Turning to survey the havoc he had created, he angrily kicked the fallen books aside and went into the bedroom to lie down. Exhausted, his body unable to fight the fatigue any longer, he drifted back to sleep.

He was sleeping dreamlessly when something jarred him, waking him. Opening his eyes, he saw Toby Barnes standing over him, wearing a stained butcher's apron. "Hello, skinny boy. Thought you could get away, didn't you?" the voice taunted. "Coward. Not man enough. Not man enough." Barnes leaned closer as he leered and laughed, his breath stinking of rotten meat. Putrid flesh fell from his fingers and dripped blood as they reached for Johnny's face.

Johnny jolted awake, heart racing, gasping for air. He rolled to his side, stomach heaving. There was nothing but bile.

* * *

Not only was Johnny angry, he was now bored. Having trashed the television, no easy entertainment presented itself. His radio was a casualty as well when it fell from the bookshelf. He put the sofa cushions back, but had no desire to clean up the rest of the mess he had made. Broken glass and bits of wood crunched under his shoes as he paced agitatedly around the apartment. One of the fallen books tripped him, and he angrily kicked it a few feet away. He kicked another one. It skittered half a foot past the first. He kicked a few more, to see which one would go the farthest. Abandoning the activity, he recommenced the interminable passage through his apartment.

Johnny reconstructed the attack. Kicking himself over and over, trying to decide what he could have done differently to change the outcome. What he should have done.

He should never have gone running. He should have gone right over to Roy's house. 'Hi, Roy. Hi, Susan. Let's build a playhouse for you. What color shall we paint it? Pink? I know that's your favorite color, sweetheart. And, then we'll have a tea party with your dolls and I'll read you a story.'

He should never have gone into the bushes. He should have turned around and followed the blonde. 'Hi. My name is Johnny. I've never seen you running here before. Mind if I run with you? Thanks! So, are you a student? Uh huh, what are you studying? Want to go get a cup of coffee?'

He should have kicked Barnes when they were in the bushes. When he was on the ground. Before he got up. He should have just kicked the gun out of Barnes' hand. Barnes probably wouldn't have shot him in a public place, would he? And, would it have mattered if he did?

He shouldn't have driven to the meat factory. He was driving the damned car. How could he have been so stupid as to drive where Barnes told him? Barnes wouldn't have shot him while he was driving, would he? He should have done something, like run a red light, or even hit a parked car. Anything to get the cops to come. Or, he should have driven to a police station. If he had driven to a police station, they could have arrested him right there. Barnes wouldn't have shot him in front of a police station, would he?

He should have fought Barnes harder. Barnes was wide open. How could he have missed so badly? He should have stepped closer before swinging. He could see his fist making contact with Barnes' face. Smashing his nose. Smashing the smug expression from his lips. Smashing into his face over and over and over until it became a bloody, unrecognizable pulp.

He should have run away instead of hiding under the butcher's block. He saw himself rolling away from the kicks. Springing to his feet. Sprinting to the door, with Barnes chasing him. But he could run faster.

He should have gotten the damned gun away. He should have shot Barnes. He saw his hand pulling the trigger. Saw the hole in Barnes' chest. Saw the bloom of blood blossoming crimson across the man's shirt. Saw Barnes pitching forward with a scream, landing dead at his feet.

He shouldn't have let Barnes do those things to him. A real man would have fought him off. He shouldn't have been so afraid. A real man wouldn't have been so afraid. Barnes was right. He wasn't man enough to take him. He should have let Barnes shoot him.


	6. Chapter 6

Johnny glared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror on the morning of the sixth day after the assault. He wanted his life back and wanted to go back to work. He would make everything normal again. He frowned, worried about the others' reaction to his face, although it looked much better than it did a couple of days ago. He touched his cheek. The bruises were starting to yellow and the scabs were drying up. He ran his tongue over his still painful and puffy lip. It felt hot and looked like it might be infected. He took a deep breath. His ribs ached a bit, but nowhere near as badly as before. His gut and his back felt considerably less sore as well. He even managed to keep some soup and crackers down the night before. He figured the biggest problem would be the story he told the guys. Telling lies was complicated business, and Johnny wasn't very good at it. He was a dreamer, not a schemer. His face always gave him away when he tried to lie, so the story had to be close enough to the truth to be believable. Remembering what he told the police—that he had been mugged—he finally concocted a plausible enough story that he could tell the others. He flipped off the bathroom light and slammed the door.

When he got to the door of the apartment, he froze, staring at the inside of the door, heart pounding, hot fear flooding his veins and making him shake. He had not left the apartment since returning five days ago. Now fear trapped him inside his own apartment. He just knew that Toby Barnes would be lurking on the other side of the door. Rationally, he knew that it was probably safe to go outside; emotionally, he was positive that it wasn't. He glanced at the clock. If he didn't leave right now, he would be late, and he certainly didn't need Cap chewing him out on top of everything else. Taking a deep breath and pushing down the fear, he reached out a trembling hand, opened the door a crack and peered out. No one waited in the hall. He puffed out the breath that he was holding and stepped outside his apartment. The door clicked shut behind him, like the sound of a hammer on a gun. He walked quickly down the hallway and descended the stairs, stopping when he got to the vestibule, reaching one more door. He paused just a moment to peer through the glass, then stepped out into the early morning sun.

A quick visual assessment revealed no one in the parking lot. Johnny crossed to his car, looked through the windows into the back, unlocked the door, got in, slammed the door shut, and then locked it immediately. Although the air in the car felt stuffy, he only rolled down the window a quarter of the way. After one last glance around, he exhaled shakily, then started up the car and drove off.

* * *

Johnny walked into the locker room, trying to avert his face as he passed Chet, Marco and Mike.

"Morning, Ga- Holy shit! What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

"Chet!" Marco elbowed his buddy in the ribs.

"Well, I think it's a definite improvement. He couldn't look any worse than he did before." Chet tried to mask his concern with humor.

"Very funny, Chet," Johnny said with a noticeable lack of his usual energetic response to Chet's teasing. He busied himself with the contents of his locker.

Roy came in the locker room. "Morning, guys."

"Morning, Roy," Chet, Mike and Marco chorused, three pairs of eyes watching Roy approach his locker.

Receiving no response from Johnny, Roy leaned over and tapped his partner on the shoulder. "Feeling better, Joh—" As Johnny pulled his head out of the locker, Roy exclaimed, "My god, what happened to your face?" He stepped closer, extending a hand toward his partner's face.

Johnny blocked the hand before it reached even halfway to making contact. "Nothing."

"Can't take 'no' for an answer, Gage?"

"Shut up, Chet!" Johnny whirled around to face Chet, anger blazing in his eyes.

"Whoa! Just kidding." Chet held up his hands placatingly.

"What happened, Johnny?" Roy's eyes and voice conveyed his concern.

Johnny took a breath, looked at the floor, and told his half-truth tonelessly. "I got mugged while I was running on Tuesday. The guy had a gun. He wanted money. I didn't have any. So he beat me up instead."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

Just then Cap poked his head into the locker room. "Roll call, two min- Gage! What the hell happened to you?"

"He was mugged," Chet supplied before Johnny had time to respond.

"You okay, John?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. It looks worse than it is. I can work."

"Did you see a doctor?"

"No. I'm fine."

Cap looked him up and down for a second, obviously debating the validity of the paramedic's claim. Then encompassing all of the men with his glance, he said, "Roll call in two minutes," and left the locker room.

The four remaining men looked at Johnny.

"What?" Johnny demanded belligerently, arms crossed.

"What did the police say?" Roy asked as he started getting dressed.

"Nothing. There wasn't anything they could do."

"There must be something…" protested Roy.

"They're not going to find the guy. I'm fine, Roy. It's over. I just want to forget it." Johnny turned slightly away from Roy, poking around inside his locker once again.

"Okay, okay. If that's the way you want it." Roy looked away as he finished dressing. "But…"

"But what?" Johnny's tone expressed his exasperation.

"We're just worried that you're going to scare the victims today."

"Shut up, Chet."

The others returned to what they were doing before Johnny's explanation. Johnny covertly observed them while slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Why hadn't he thought to put his uniform on, or at least a T-shirt, before coming to work this morning? Grabbing a clean T-shirt from the locker, he left the door open and headed to the latrine. He slowly donned the article of clothing, trying to gauge how long his shiftmates would take to finish up. He remembered to flush the toilet before going back into the locker room. Obfuscation complete, he returned to the now deserted locker room and hurriedly finished changing.

Johnny took his place next to Roy as Cap began outlining the day's assignments. Johnny pulled latrine duty and, for once, he felt inordinately grateful to have the solo assignment. Fire hydrant inspections rounded out the day's agenda. Cap dismissed the men. The firefighters and the paramedics headed over to the engine and the squad respectively to check the lights, siren, fuel, oxygen, SCBA and oil, ensuring that all was in readiness. When the engine crew finished, they headed off to the kitchen for their usual cup of coffee before tackling the day's housekeeping tasks. Roy and Johnny stayed behind to do the daily equipment calibration with Rampart and to inventory the supplies.

Roy performed the first task and was putting the equipment away. The drug box and the trauma kit sat opened on the ground beside Johnny. He held a pen between his teeth as he counted the various vials in the drug box. Johnny winced a little as he bumped his lip upon removing the pen to write down the inventory.

Roy didn't miss the mild expression of pain. "Don't you think you should see a doctor?"

Johnny didn't look up, intent on writing. "No. Didn't need stitches. Nothing's broken."

"I think you should let a doctor decide that."

A look of profound annoyance flitted across Johnny's face. "Cut the paramedic crap, Roy. I can tell if I need to see a doctor."

"You told me you had the flu," Roy pointed out, his tone matter-of-fact.

Nonplussed, Johnny scrambled for an excuse. "And, see, this is why. I knew you'd be all over me about this. I'm fine." Johnny turned his back and busied himself with the drug box. Maybe he'd alphabetize them a la Brice.

Roy just gazed at his partner in long suffering silence, his expression clearly saying that he knew this was going to be a long shift. Roy's musings were interrupted by an alarm.

"Station 51. Traffic accident with injuries. 1200 block of 213th St. Twelve hundred block of Two hundred thirteenth Street. Cross street Perry. Time out 8:15."

Johnny quickly closed up the boxes. He and Roy each put one into the appropriate bay, and then got into the squad just as Cap finished writing down the address. Both vehicles headed toward the scene of the accident, lights flashing and sirens blaring.


	7. Chapter 7

After the injured victim was prepared for transport and as the technicians were loading the gurney into the ambulance, Cap pulled Roy aside. Indicating Johnny with a nod of his head, he quietly said, "Get him checked out while you're there."

Roy glanced at Johnny and then back at Cap. He nodded and stepped up into the ambulance.

Cap closed the doors and rapped twice on the window. He folded his arms as he watched Johnny get into the squad. He had noticed that the paramedic moved a bit stiffly during the rescue, and Johnny's protestations to the contrary, Cap did not believe the paramedic was "fine." But, if Rampart cleared the man, Cap would have to be satisfied.

* * *

Roy exited the treatment room and looked around for Johnny, not really surprised to not see his partner at the supply station. Hazarding a guess that Johnny had not even come into the emergency department, Roy went out to the squad. His hunch proved correct.

Roy leaned down to the passenger side window of the squad. "Cap said for you to get checked out while we're here."

"He did not. You just want me to get checked out." Johnny looked out the front windshield.

"Huh-uh. He told me to have you get checked out."

"Oh, yeah? Well, why didn't he tell me?" Johnny's anger simmered slowly.

"Look, I'm just the messenger. Do you want to call him?" Roy asked calmly.

"Oh, man. I do not believe you." Johnny glared at Roy and then pushed the squad door open, narrowly missing his partner.

Roy kept his expression carefully neutral as he quickly stepped back out of Johnny's way. His partner was a walking time bomb today, and he did not particularly want to be at ground zero when he went off.

* * *

Dr. Morton spotted Johnny and Roy coming down the hall. He stopped, eyebrows raised. "Looks like you were on the wrong end of something, Gage."

A sullen glare was Johnny's response. Roy smiled nervously, saying, "The Captain asked if you wouldn't mind checking him out."

"Sure thing. Right this way." Dr. Morton tried to steer Johnny by the elbow.

Johnny jerked his arm out of Dr. Morton's grasp and favored Roy with another withering glare as he pushed open the door to the treatment room. Dr. Morton exchanged a glance with Roy before following the irate paramedic into the room.

"Up on the table." Dr. Morton patted the examination gurney as he reached up to switch on the bright examination light.

Face devoid of expression, Johnny tried to comply as smoothly as possible, so as not to reveal the extent of his injuries. Dr. Morton had already seen how Johnny moved, however.

"Lie back." Dr. Morton adjusted the light. "When did this happen?" he asked as he gently palpated the paramedic's face.

"Last Tuesday," he replied curtly.

"Uh huh. You should have come in earlier. Well, nothing seems to be broken. It looks like you have an infection in your lip, though. I'll prescribe an antibiotic for that. Are you allergic to anything?"

"No." Johnny sat up and started to get off the table.

"Hold still. I'm not done." Dr. Morton felt Johnny's head for lumps. "So, what happened."

"Nothing."

Dr. Morton fixed him with a hard look. "Doesn't look like nothing. You've got a lump here. Were you unconscious at any time?" He shined his pocket light into Johnny's eyes.

"No."

"Vomiting?"

Johnny hesitated fractionally before shaking his head and looking away. He started to get down from the table once again.

Dr. Morton stopped him with a hand. "Hold on."

"What for?" he asked with exasperation.

"I'm not done, yet. I want to check the rest of you."

Johnny's eyes glanced over at the door and then back to Dr. Morton. "My ribs are just bruised."

"Mind if I take a look?"

"They're bruised, not broken. There's nothing to see." He crossed his arms and tilted his head defiantly, lips compressed.

"Thank you, Dr. Gage. Now, would you mind unbuttoning your shirt to let me take a look?"

Johnny complied with a huff. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he fought to stay calm under Dr. Morton's touch. He flinched a couple of times as the doctor's fingers brushed a particularly tender spot. When Dr. Morton was done, Johnny started to sit back up.

"Okay. It looks like you were right. A couple of them may be cracked, though. Lie down."

"Now what for?"

"To check for abdominal tenderness, Gage. Now, lie down and quit giving me a hard time!" The uncooperative patient was pushing Dr. Morton to lose his already short temper.

"I don't have any abdominal tenderness!" Anxiety was causing Johnny to begin to lose the very tenuous grip he had on his famously short temper as well.

"Then you shouldn't mind if I check!" Dr. Morton palpated the upper quadrants of Johnny's abdomen. When he reached to undo Johnny's belt buckle, Johnny batted his hands aside. "I'll do it."

Johnny held his breath and counted the acoustic tiles in the ceiling as Dr. Morton finished the examination. He no longer paid attention to the doctor or what the man was doing.

"Would you mind breathing? Johnny!"

"What?" Johnny looked confused and startled for a second.

"I said, 'would you mind breathing?'" Dr. Morton paused, stethoscope in hand, eyes carefully regarding the paramedic's face. When Johnny started breathing, Dr. Morton listened to the breath tones.

"Okay. Sit up again." The doctor listened to Johnny breathe some more. Both the heart rate and the breathing seemed to be slowing now as he continued to listen.

"Okay. We're done now." He folded his arms as he watched the paramedic get off the table and turn his back on him as he angrily began refastening his clothing.

"How did this happen?"

"None of your business," Johnny snapped over his shoulder, hostility glittering in his eyes. He knew that if he told Dr. Morton he was mugged, the doctor would have to file a police report.

"I see someone come in here with injuries like you have, it becomes my business!" Dr. Morton responded to the angry challenge in kind.

"I did not ask to come in here!"

Just then Dixie poked her head into the room. She raised an eyebrow at the appearance of Johnny's face, but didn't comment on it. "Are you two done? We need this room." Dixie looked at the two men questioningly, noting their angry postures. The tension in the room seemed almost a palpable thing.

"We've just finished," Dr. Morton finally said to Dixie. Turning back to Johnny as they exited the room, he added, "Come outside and I'll write you that prescription for antibiotics."

"Are you going to tell my keeper here that I'm cleared to work?" Johnny indicated Roy with a jerk of his head.

"Yes, you're cleared. Try to take it a bit easy on the heavy lifting, if you can. Come back if anything gets worse."

Johnny took the prescription that Dr. Morton held out, and wordlessly stalked in the direction of the pharmacy.

Roy smiled apologetically and started walking backwards in the direction his partner had taken, "I'd better go."

Dr. Morton stood with arms crossed and did not return the smile. "What happened to him?"

"Uh, he told us he was mugged."

After a pause, Dr. Morton nodded his head and asked, "Did he report it?"

"Yeah. But he said that the police said they wouldn't be able to do anything."

The doctor looked like he was going to say something more when a student nurse standing in the doorway of the treatment room summoned him. "Dr. Morton? You're needed in here."

Dr. Morton disappeared into the room and Roy turned to follow after his angry partner.

* * *

A car pulled out from the back of the station just as the paramedics returned from Rampart. Johnny recognized Chief McConnike behind the wheel. "Great," he muttered, trying to nonchalantly shield his face with a hand as Roy backed the squad into the bay.

Cap emerged from the office as Roy turned off the ignition. "How'd it go?"

"Uh, the victim is going to be okay." Roy glanced over at Johnny before continuing. "Dr. Morton checked Johnny and said he's okay for work, but needs to go easy on lifting."

Cap nodded as he watched the angry dark-haired paramedic exit the squad, and then he spotted the bottle of pills in the man's hand. "What is the prescription for, John?"

"Antibiotic. For my lip," came the terse reply that was just short of insubordination.

"Cap?" Roy deliberately asked a question. "Was that Chief McConnike we saw just leaving?"

Pulling his attention away from Johnny, Cap responded, "Yeah. He just came by for a follow-up on those false alarms. It's kind of odd the way they just suddenly dropped off. We're thinking the arson at the warehouse is the key. I don't know if they'll ever find out who was behind them."


	8. Chapter 8

"Kel? Have you got a minute?" Dr. Morton stopped Dr. Brackett in the hallway near the base station.

"Sure, Mike. What's on your mind?"

"Did you see Gage this morning?"

"No. Why?"

"Somebody used him for a punching bag. DeSoto says he was mugged."

"How severe were his injuries?"

"Facial contusions, an infected split lip. Bruising around the rib cage… Damn! I was going to send him to x-ray. It looked like he was kicked. I think a couple of ribs might be cracked." Dr. Morton moved his hands as he spoke, illustrating his point.

"Any signs of internal injuries?" The two men continued down the hall to the base station.

"No."

"You could call his station and have them send him back for x-rays."

"Yeah, I'll do that. But, I'm more concerned about his mental state."

Upon reaching their destination, Dr. Brackett folded his arms and leaned back against the counter. "What do you mean?"

"During the examination he fluctuated between anger and dissociation."

"Psychiatric trauma is one of the sequelae of assault. Do you think he needs to be referred?"

"Not exactly. Maybe you should talk to him."

The ringing of the base station phone terminated their conversation. "Okay. Let me know when he comes back for the x-ray," said Dr. Brackett ,turning away to take the call.

* * *

Cap poked his head into the kitchen where Roy was mopping the floor. "Roy? That was Rampart on the phone. They want John to come in for x-rays."

Roy looked surprised. "Okay. Let me just dump out this water. Did you call us in?"

"Yes. I'll let John know."

By the time Roy put his cleaning supplies back in the closet, Johnny had already gotten into the squad. Upon seeing the thunderous expression on his partner's face, Roy tried for a little levity as he climbed in behind the wheel. "At least it gets you out of cleaning the latrine."

Johnny's reply was unintelligible, and Roy decided he was probably better off not knowing exactly what his friend had said. They accomplished the seemingly longer than usual drive to Rampart in silence. Once there, Johnny got his chest x-rays, and was just ready to leave when Dr. Brackett stopped him, asking to speak with him for a moment.

Johnny followed Dr. Brackett down the hall to the doctor's office, silently damning Dr. Morton for making him return to Rampart for x-rays. Dr. Brackett held the door open for the paramedic, ushering him inside.

"Have a seat."

"What's this about?" Johnny remained standing as Dr. Brackett crossed in front of him to perch on the corner of the desk.

"I understand you've been mugged."

"Uh, yeah. It's no big deal."

"Well, I think it's a pretty big deal." Dr. Brackett folded his arms and kept his gaze on Johnny's face.

Johnny glanced away. "I'm not hurt that bad."

"Physically, you don't seem to be. But it's a traumatic experience, and you may need a little help in dealing with it."

"I can handle it!" Johnny protested a little more loudly than he intended.

"As you probably know, emotional trauma is often longer lasting and more painful than physical trauma. I'm just saying that you should keep your options open. I'd be happy to talk with you if you need to. Or, I can refer you to someone else."

The expression of irritation on Johnny's face belied his words. "I'm okay. I don't need any help. But, thanks for offering."

"Okay, then. You know where to find me." Dr. Brackett placed a hand on Johnny's shoulder as he guided him to the door. Johnny's personal victory for the day came from not flinching at the other man's touch.

* * *

The rest of his day steadily went downhill after the visit with Dr. Brackett. Johnny snapped at anyone who tried to talk with him and his whole demeanor radiated animosity, effectively keeping his shiftmates at bay.

The paramedics had just returned from a late afternoon run. Johnny stood at the sink, drinking water. Marco, whose turn it was to cook dinner, brought over a package of ground beef and began to open it on the counter next to the sink. When the scent of raw meat wafted over to Johnny, his stomach flip-flopped, making him gag on the water. He hurriedly put the glass down, and made a run for the doorway leading into the engine bay. His stomach heaved again, and he knew he wasn't going to make it to the latrine. Grabbing the wastebasket near the doorway on his way out, he rushed half way across the bay, then began vomiting into the receptacle. His gut felt like it would never stop convulsing, although his stomach contained very little.

Roy, who was crossing the bay from the latrine, hurried over to Johnny. "Are you okay?" he asked, trying to reach for the wastebasket and put a hand on Johnny's back at the same time. He received an elbow in the ribs for his trouble.

"I'm okay. Leave me alone." Johnny gasped, as soon as he was able.

"You're not okay. You're puking your guts out in the middle of the engine bay."

"I choked on some water. The hamburger smelled bad. Tell Marco not to use the hamburger. I think it's spoiled." He spit in the wastebasket.

"Let me take care of that while you get cleaned up," Roy offered.

"No, it's okay. I'll do it." The greenish tint faded, being rapidly replaced with the red of embarrassment.

By this time, Cap had come over. "You okay, John?"

"Yeah. I'm just going to get cleaned up."

Cap watched him go. Turning to Roy, he asked, "Is he okay?"

"He said the meat smelled bad and he choked on some water."

"What exactly did Dr. Morton say?"

"He said Johnny probably had a couple of bruised of ribs. And an infection in his lip."

"Well, that wouldn't make him puke, would it?"

"No. Could be the antibiotic. Erythromycin has that side effect."

"He sure has been a bear this shift."

Roy shrugged. "Yeah. Tell me about it. I don't know, Cap. Sorry."

Half an hour later dinner was ready, Marco having used the hamburger after all, since no one else thought it smelled spoiled. As Johnny never returned to the break room, Roy went in search of his partner.

He found Johnny lying on his bunk, left arm over his eyes in his usual sleeping position. Roy softly walked closer, obviously not wanting to wake his cranky partner if he were asleep. Johnny opened his eyes as Roy came nearer, his expression bleak. Bruises and split lip aside, he looked somehow much older than he did the previous shift.

"Uh, supper's ready."

"I know. I can smell it. I'm not going to eat."

"You haven't eaten anything all day."

"I'm not hungry."

"You… uh… does your stomach hurt?"

"No. I just don't feel hungry. Maybe it really is the flu." Johnny closed his eyes, signaling that he wasn't going to talk any more.

Roy gazed at the enigma that was his partner a moment longer and then left the room.


	9. Chapter 9

Johnny lay rigidly in his bunk, listening to the snores and rustlings of the other sleeping men. He was drowning in their nearness. The seawall safeguarding the core of his being had been breached and the presence of another person, any person, in the same room stung like salt water flowing through, burning the sensitive essence within.

The sounds of breathing pressed in all around him. It suddenly sounded like Barnes. His own breath quickened as he realized he wore only shorts and a T-shirt in a roomful of nearly naked men, all of whom he had spent the day antagonizing. His heart felt like a terrorized rabbit running in his chest. What if they attacked him? Sweat began to pour off him as he imagined himself fighting them off, seeing his fist smash into their faces, blood spraying back in his own face. He saw his hands close around Roy's neck, choking the life out of him, his partner's face turning purple. Suddenly, Johnny knew he was going to be sick. He bolted from the bed into the latrine and vomited mostly bile. Shaking, he leaned back against the cool tiles as his heart rate and breathing slowing returned to normal. Using the wall, he levered himself back up and went to the sink to rinse his mouth and splash water on his face. He gazed at his reflection. He did not know the man in the mirror.

Upon returning from the toilet, he gathered up his turnout gear and headed for the sofa in the break room. The air seemed cooler here, and he could breathe again. The sounds of the freeway traffic filtered into the room. He always wondered where so many people had to go in the middle of the night. Why weren't they at home, in bed, asleep?

Henry slept in the middle of the sofa. "Move over, Henry. You smell like a dog."

Henry yawned and thumped his tail in response, but, of course, didn't move.

"Well, boy, I guess it's good you can't understand what I'm saying, because you wouldn't like me, either." Johnny scooted the dog down to the end of the sofa. "Henry, you weigh a ton." Then he lay down on the sofa, with one leg atop the back and the other foot on the floor, so as not to disturb the dog.

* * *

Finally the shift ended and Johnny bolted from the station as fast as he could, returning straight home and locking the door behind him. He looked down as his foot crunched on the glass that still littered the floor in front of the doorway. He walked around the trashed apartment in disgust. Just seeing the mess angered him afresh. He punched the wall above the ruined television set over and over until his fist broke through the drywall. He felt so much rage. He didn't know what to do with it. Rubbing his bruised knuckles with a sigh, he returned to the kitchen for the broom and began to sweep up the debris.

A cleaning frenzy seized him, and he started to clean the whole apartment from top to bottom. When he pulled open the shower curtain, he saw the sodden lump of clothing still moldering in the corner where he had first kicked it. He had not been able to bring himself to touch it since. Using one plastic bag as a glove, he picked up the musty smelling articles of clothing and shoved them into a second bag. He then tossed the bag on the floor and began scrubbing the bathroom.

A few hours later saw the task to completion. Johnny worked hard and fast, working up quite a sweat. He opened the refrigerator, searching for something cold to drink; unfortunately, the refrigerator fairy had not made an appearance, and the interior remained as empty as it had been seven days ago. The only thing in there was the other five cans of beer and he definitely didn't want that.

Deciding he might as well go shopping, he went into the bathroom to get cleaned up. That damned bag of clothing still sat obscenely on the floor. He briefly considered just flushing it down, but figured that the plumbing bill would bankrupt him. Not wanting to just throw the clothes away where someone else might find them, and knowing that the contents inside the bag were too damp to burn, he kicked the bag behind the toilet where he wouldn't have to see it and got into the shower.

* * *

Johnny wandered up and down the aisles of the supermarket, adding various items to the cart. He didn't really like to cook, but the thought of chili cheese dogs and fries and other fast foods truly nauseated him. He picked up a couple of packages of spaghetti noodles and some jars of sauce. Cereal, bread, peanut butter and jelly soon followed. He added some fresh fruits and vegetables as he passed the produce section. A gallon of milk and two cartons of juice went into the top section of the cart, where small children usually sat. He neared the butcher department, intending to purchase some chicken. But the odor of raw meat assailed his nose, and he gagged as his stomach turned. He managed to back away into the frozen food section, where the air felt cooler and the scent smelled different. He stood, panting shallowly, trying to force down the urge to vomit in the middle of the store, for several long minutes.

"Sir? Are you okay?" A store clerk looked at him with concern.

"Uh, yeah. I'm just trying to remember what to buy." He glanced down into the frozen food case before which he stood. Reaching in, he randomly grabbed several packages of frozen vegetables, which he tossed into the cart before proceeding to the checkout stand.

Just as he finished loading the groceries into the back of the Land Rover, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. A hand squeezed his heart and his breath stuck in his throat until he recognized that the red-haired man getting into the car next to him was not Toby Barnes.

Once inside the seeming safety of his car, he rested his head on the back of the driver's seat. "I am going crazy," he said to the roof. He was just about to drive back to his apartment, when he spotted the hardware store directly across from the supermarket. This reminded him of another errand he needed to do, so he pulled the Land Rover up closer and trotted into the store. Purchases quickly made, he returned home.

* * *

It took two trips to get the groceries up the stairs to his apartment. He met Mrs. Carter, his landlady, as he headed back down the stairs.

"Oh, my, Mr. Gage! What happened? Are you all right?" The grey-haired woman's eyes filled with concern as she spoke.

"Yes, I'm fine. It only looks bad. Uh, I was just coming to see you. Would you mind if I changed the lock on the door to my apartment? It always sticks when it rains. Of course, I'll give you the keys."

"You go right ahead, Mr. Gage. I appreciate all the little things you do to help with the upkeep of this old building." Mrs. Carter beamed at the young man who was one of her favorite tenants. She found him to be so polite and so helpful, a nice, clean-cut boy, and so kind to allow a garrulous old woman like herself to bend his ear from time to time.

"Thank you." He went upstairs to begin the task. Soon he had not only changed the lock on the doorknob, but installed a deadbolt lock as well.

He went downstairs to give Mrs. Carter the keys. He ended up staying for over an hour, drinking coffee and nibbling on a cookie as she entertained him with all the latest neighborhood gossip. Finally he excused himself, pleading fatigue, and went back to his apartment. The emotionally exhausting events of the past few days overwhelmed him, and he fell asleep on the sofa shortly after sitting down.


	10. Chapter 10

Physically, Johnny felt much better by the next shift. The bruises were faded to mere ghosts of their former glory and his lip was healing nicely. His ribs pained him considerably less and moving around became easier. However, his personality had blossomed even pricklier than before, and he managed to alienate everyone shortly after arriving at the station in the morning. The rest of the crew gave Johnny a wide berth, and shot pitying glances at Roy.

Roy did his best not to exacerbate the situation with the already aggravated man he called his best friend and partner. In the field, they conducted themselves as all business, very professionally, if not a bit impersonally. And, when they rode alone in the squad, they stayed silent, Johnny preferring to keep an angry and sullen distance as he stared out the window. While it was not particularly pleasant, driving around with a human equivalent of TNT, Roy knew the wiser course of action lay in keeping his own counsel rather than having to deal with the fallout from arguing or having heated confrontations. Roy knew Johnny was upset about the mugging, but past experience had taught him not to try and push when his friend acted like this. He hoped Johnny would either get over it soon on his own, or decide to talk with him about it. For the time being, he willingly gave the other paramedic all the space he needed.

* * *

Cap removed the last pork chop from the frying pan and then spooned the sautéed onions over them. He brought the steaming platter over to the table and announced, "Chow's on." Four hungry firefighters responded to the call, helping bring the bowls containing the rest of the food to the table. "Where's Gage?"

"Last I saw him, he was out back," said Marco.

"Well, you want to go get him?"

"Not really."

Cap looked askance at the others as they nodded their agreement with Marco's response. "I'll get him."

"Why spoil a good meal?" grumbled Chet.

Cap let the comment go as he left the kitchen in search of his unpopular paramedic. He found Johnny leaning against the wall just outside the back engine bay doors, seemingly staring at nothing.

"Johnny?"

The other man startled, and a look of panic flew across his face before being carefully concealed. Johnny looked up. "Yes, Cap?"

"Chow's on. You want to come in?"

Johnny shook his head. He neither wanted to eat nor sit at the table with the others.

"You want to talk?"

An almost imperceptible expression of alarm flitted across his face, then was quickly replaced with the expressionless visage he had been wearing all day. He pushed himself off the wall. "No. But, thanks, Cap. Let's go in. Your food's getting cold."

He paused at the door to the kitchen as the scent of the dinner assailed him. He swallowed hard, forcing down the rising nausea.

"Nice of you to join us, Gage," Chet said sarcastically.

Johnny made no reply, since trying to look normal occupied his entire attention. After he sat down, the conversation at the table resumed. He didn't participate in the discussion. Not that the others were ignoring him, but they weren't going out of their way to include him, either. That was okay with him, however, as he found himself using all his concentration to avoid puking at the table. Johnny put some food on his plate and even managed to chew and swallow a few bites. He toyed with the rest of it, waiting for the others to finish eating. When they started to push their plates back, he got up and scraped most of his food into the rubbish, then began to wash his dishes.

"You doing dishes tonight? Thanks, Gage." Chet put his dishes in the sink.

A look of annoyance crossed Johnny's face, but he started washing Chet's dishes without comment. Taking a cue from Chet, the others added their dishes to the stack.

Wordlessly, Roy picked up a dishtowel and started drying the dishes.

Johnny glanced at his partner before returning his attention to the dishes. "I can do it…"

"It's okay."

* * *

At the end of the shift, Johnny had offered a quick apology to his mates in the locker room before seeming to once again flee the station. Chet and Marco remained behind talking for a few minutes.

"One 'sorry' and he thinks we're going to forget what it's been like to live with him the past two shifts?" grumbled Chet.

"Yeah. He's really been over the top. I'd give him another black eye, except the ones he has are just starting to look better," commented Marco.

"He's really freaked over getting beat up."

"Yeah. Someone punched his lights out good."

"Well, that's probably why he's such a grouch. But, geeze. Why take it out on us? I think the Phantom will have to get him next shift."

"I don't know if that's a good idea, Chet. He doesn't seem to have any sense of humor right now."

"I know. That's why the Phantom needs to strike. Get things back to normal."

* * *

Chet and Marco hung back, prolonging getting dressed.

As Johnny opened his locker, a rubber snake leaped out at him. He jumped back and yelled, a number of emotions passing over his features in rapid succession, until rage settled in. "Chet!" he bellowed, lunging across the bench with a wild expression in the depths of his eyes. His foot caught on the bench and slowed him before he got his hands on Chet, who was rapidly backing away with a look of alarm on his face.

Mike and Roy stepped in between the two men. Mike grabbed Johnny by the shoulders as he tried to lunge for Chet again. "Not funny, Chet! You sonofobitch!" he yelled. Then focusing on Mike he snarled, "Get your hands off me!" Mike let go and stepped back, still keeping between Johnny and Chet.

Marco was pulling Chet out the door when Cap appeared. "What the hell is going on in here?" The loud query stopped the action in the locker room. When no one immediately answered, he put his hand on his hips, demanding, "Well?"

"Chet rigged a rubber snake in Johnny's locker," Roy supplied with irritation.

"Oh, of all the… This is like running a preschool! Gage! Kelly! In my office!"

The two men glared at each other and then followed Cap across the engine bay. Once inside the office, Cap faced them with arms folded across his chest, his expression unamused. "What happened?" he asked flatly.

"It was a joke, Cap," Chet answered his captain. Then, turning to Johnny, "Can't you take a joke?"

Johnny rounded on Chet. "It was a snake! You know…" Johnny turned back to face Cap. "He knows I hate snakes!"

"It was just a joke, Gage!"

"Well, it wasn't funny!"

"Working with you lately hasn't been funny, either! You've been a big pain in the ass!"

Johnny took a step closer to Chet. "Well, who wouldn't be, having to work with you?"

"Enough!" Cap's voice cut through the rapidly escalating argument. He glared at Johnny. "You, back off." Next he glared at Chet. "And you, lay off!" Then, glaring at both of them, he warned, "Both of you settle down. I don't want to hear anything more about this today. I expect you both to work together with civility. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," both men responded.

Cap looked back and forth between the two men. Johnny still appeared angry, while Chet appeared merely annoyed. "Dismissed, Kelly." After Chet had left, Cap spoke. "You have a pretty short fuse lately. You got something you need to get off your chest?"

Johnny looked past Cap. "No, sir."

Cap's expression softened. "I'm a good listener, John."

Johnny closed his eyes and then reopened them to meet Cap's look. "No, thank you, sir."

Cap considered the stubborn man standing stiffly before him. "I expect you to keep a lid on it."

"Yes, sir."

"Go finish changing. Roll call in two minutes. Dismissed." Cap tapped his mouth with his finger thoughtfully. This continual, hair-trigger alert type of anger just wasn't like John Gage. Maybe he needed to go see Dr. Wilson again.


	11. Chapter 11

Cap read the duty roster. "Break room, Lopez. Dorm, Stoker. Engine bay, Gage. Kitchen, DeSoto. Latrine, Kelly."

"Thanks a lot, Gage," Chet muttered loudly enough for Johnny to hear.

Cap heard the complaint as well. "For your information, Kelly, I had you assigned to latrine duty before you decided to pull your little stunt. If you'd like latrine duty for the rest of the month, just keep it up."

Johnny shot Chet an irritated "so-there" kind of look. Chet huffed and rolled his eyes.

Cap glared in exasperation at the two men. "Dismissed."

As firefighters headed for the engine to begin the apparatus check, Marco said quietly to Chet, "I told you it would be a bad idea."

"Shut up, Marco."

* * *

Five firefighters were sitting around the table, having just finished lunch. Johnny paced, bouncing between the break room and the kitchen like a crazed ping pong ball. Finally Chet couldn't stand it any more. "Gage! Will you just sit down? Or, go outside and do that. You're driving us nuts!"

"Don't tell me what to do!" Johnny stopped pacing long enough to argue.

"What, you think you can just annoy everyone and we won't say anything?"

"The only annoying thing in this room is you!"

"Better take a look in the mirror, buddy."

"I don't have to. I can see you." Johnny shot this less than scintillating bit of repartee over his shoulder as he stalked out of the room.

"Roy, do something about your partner before we do it."

* * *

As Johnny packed up the trauma kit, he felt a tingle on the back of his neck. He glanced up and scanned the faces of the crowd. He saw a redheaded man leaving the area. He couldn't be sure if it were Barnes or not. Fear grabbed him by the throat and started to squeeze the life out of him. Shooting another look behind him, he grabbed the trauma box and pushed past Roy, who had one foot up in readiness for climbing into the ambulance. "I'll ride in," he said tersely.

Roy appeared rather taken aback. "I thought you said…"

"I'll ride in." Already inside the ambulance, Johnny turned and looked out the doors past Roy. Then meeting his partners worried gaze, he said, "Sorry, I changed my mind. I'll see you at Rampart, okay?"

"Okay." Roy said, looking puzzled as he handed the biophone to Johnny and closed the doors.

* * *

It couldn't have been Barnes, could it? Could it? How would he have known they were on this run? This train of thought began to derail. Pushing the distressing ideas aside, Johnny forced himself to focus solely on the victim, frowning upon rechecking the vitals. He didn't like the direction they appeared to be going, so he contacted Rampart. Dixie's calm voice helped ground him as she instructed him to hang a second bag of Ringers. The five-minute ride to the hospital seemed to take forever. As soon as the ambulance stopped at the emergency entrance, he hopped out of the vehicle. Scanning the area, he sighed in relief when the man he hoped not to see appeared to be nowhere in sight. He felt even better once they were inside the emergency room door. Surely Barnes wouldn't come here.

"Treatment Room Two," directed Dixie as they rolled past her.

After helping to transfer the victim to the examination gurney and hanging the IV bag, Johnny asked, "Need me any more?" Upon receiving a negative reply, he left the treatment room and headed straight for the men's room to splash water on his face and to try to calm what felt like a roiling mass of snakes writhing in his gut.

He looked in the mirror. A pale, dripping face, eyes wide with fear stared back at him. He shook his head. He was so stupid. Of course it hadn't been Barnes. Barnes would never come after him in a public place. The man would wait until he was alone somewhere before making a move. He shook his head, hating the face in the mirror. "No more," he whispered. "I can't be like this."

By the time Roy finished up at the supply station, Johnny had exited the bathroom, his normal color restored to his face. "Got everything?" he asked his partner.

"Yeah. Let's go." Roy picked up the trauma box, leaving the drug box for Johnny. He took one last look around the hallway before following his partner out to the squad in silence.

* * *

Roy put the key in the ignition, but didn't turn it over. "What was that all about?"

Johnny picked up the microphone. "Squad 51 available." He put it back in the holder and stared at it for a moment. Finally answering his partner, but evading the question, he replied, "Nothing."

"It's not 'nothing,' Johnny. Something's bugging you. You're jumpy as hell. You can't sleep. You blow me off all the time. I'm getting tired of this. The others are getting tired of this…"

"You're getting tired of this?" Johnny exclaimed loudly. Then he muttered, "I need some air." He got out of the cab and paced to the back of the squad. They were getting tired of it? They were getting tired of it? He was losing his fucking mind, and they were getting tired of it! He took a few deep breaths and kicked at some rubbish littering the ground. Finally he returned to the passenger side of the squad.

"Sorry." He closed the door a bit harder than necessary and looked straight ahead. He sat as far away from Roy as possible.

"Okay." Roy sighed and started the squad, knowing that pushing Johnny would get him nowhere faster than a snowball melting on a hot summer day.

They drove in silence back to the station. As soon as Roy finished backing in, Johnny bolted from the squad without a backward glance, almost before the vehicle had completely stopped. Roy sat a few moments longer before heading into the kitchen. Not surprised at not finding Johnny there, he sat down on the sofa, shoulders slumped in defeat. The others had asked him to 'do something' about his partner. How could he do anything when the man wouldn't even talk to him? How could he even know how to help him when he kept running away? He thought for a few minutes longer and then went to the dorm to retrieve his new paramedic manual. It contained a large section on psychiatric conditions.


	12. Chapter 12

"Station 51. Structure fire. 215 Desford St. Two-one-five Desford. Cross street Grace. Time out 3:14."

The men of Station 51 dropped what they were doing and took their places in the engine and the squad. They rolled on the call with lights flashing and sirens wailing.

"Station 51, cancel. Return to station."

"Must have been a false alarm," Roy commented without concern, as he cut the lights and the siren.

False alarm? Johnny started to tremble and couldn't seem to catch his breath. How could Roy be so unconcerned about a false alarm? Was it beginning all over again? Was Barnes doing it again? Was it all going to happen again?

"You know, that's the first one for a couple of shifts now. Not like before." Roy glanced over at Johnny and did a double take. "Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah." He started to breathe once more. "You think they're starting up again?" he asked, voice pitched slightly higher than normal.

"No. This is different. Dispatch called us back. The other ones were to vacant lots or to people who hadn't even called us, remember? We haven't had many trash fires lately, either," Roy pointed out helpfully.

"Oh. Yeah."

As soon as they got back to the station Johnny disappeared in the opposite direction as the others.

* * *

"Johnny? Cap wants…" Roy walked into the dorm and then froze as he spotted his partner. Johnny sat pressed up against the wall, huddling between their two bunks. Roy was shocked to see that it looked like Johnny was crying.

Dealing with tears was never one of Roy's strong suits. Not from his wife. Not from his kids. And, certainly not from his partner. He tentatively approached. "Johnny?" he asked softly.

"Go away, Roy. I don't want… I can't…" Johnny shielded his face with his arm and tried to speak through the tears.

"I don't want to leave you like this. What…" Roy hovered anxiously.

Johnny waved him back, still trying to force the tears away. "No."

"Can I get you something?"

"Kleenex."

Roy walked over to the small desk near the door where the box of tissues sat, pulled out a wad and brought them to Johnny. Johnny wiped his face and his nose, then leaned his head back against the wall, clutching the sodden tissues in his hand, his breath coming in little hitches, lips still trembling even as he pressed them together.

Roy sat down at the foot of the bed, trying not to crowd his partner. "Johnny," he said very quietly. "We've got to talk."

"I'm having a hard time, Roy."

"I know."

"I … I feel … He was going to kill me, Roy. I knew he was going to kill me. He was holding the gun to my head. I froze."

"Yeah. That must make you feel pretty helpless. Pretty out of control."

A small, fleeting smile tugged at Johnny's mouth and disappeared even more quickly than it had come. "Oh, yeah. You sound like Wilson. Control. We paramedics are really big on control." He remembered some of the things he had talked about with Dr. Wilson, a LACoFD psychiatrist, last December, when he had thought that he lost his paramedic's license. The whole situation with Barnes had started with the mix-up of the paramedic exams. "He was going to kill me."

"That sounds pretty scary. I know I'd be scared."

Johnny exhaled and closed his eyes. "It's not like when we're working a dangerous rescue. I mean, that's scary, too. But you just don't think about it while you're working. You just do it. And maybe afterwards, when you think 'there but for the grace of god,' when the adrenaline has worn off, then maybe you get the shakes. But this. This was right there. There… there wasn't…" His voice trailed off as his chin began to tremble and he clenched his teeth. Looking straight ahead at the opposite wall, he said with a quiver in his voice, "Roy, could you just go for a while? Please?"

"Okay, partner." Roy stood and began backing away, his eyes filled with concern, the expression on his face evincing his reluctance to leave his friend in so much distress. When his back hit the door, he fumbled behind him for the handle. After finding it, he opened the door and slipped halfway out. "I'll be back later."

As he stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him, he almost collided with Cap.

"Did you find…" Cap started to say and then stopped as he noticed the expression on Roy's face. "What's the matter?"

"I found him. Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Cap let out a frustrated sigh and gazed into the distance for a second. Looking back at Roy, he said, "What is going on with him? He's been impossible lately."

Roy rubbed a hand over his mouth. "I think it's from getting mugged. It's the after-effects of the trauma. I did a little reading about it."

"Well? What did you find out?"

Just then Mike approached the doorway where they stood conversing. "Hold on a minute, Mike." Cap put his hand up.

"I was just going to get a book I left in the dorm."

Cap shook his head in negation. "Not right now. Roy, I think it would be good if you explained it to all of us. How long do you think he's going to be in there?"

"Not long."

"Roy, go get Chet and Marco; they're out back hanging hose. We'll meet in the kitchen. Come on, Mike." Cap led the way across the engine bay.

* * *

Johnny heard the sound of voices outside the dorm, but couldn't make out the words. It had been exactly two weeks since… since something really bad had happened to him. Something impossibly dirty, something that never should have happened.

After the voices left, Johnny struggled not to cry again. He hugged himself with his arms and rocked gently back and forth as he failed to stop the liquid misery that spilled out of his eyes and ran from his nose. He knew he couldn't be doing this at work at work. Cap would send him to the funny farm for sure. He wanted so badly to talk with someone. But he was so afraid. So afraid… Afraid of what would happen if anyone found out. Afraid that they would see that he was less of a man. Afraid that they would ridicule him. Afraid that they would reject him. Afraid that they would think he wanted it. Afraid that they would think he did something to deserve it. Maybe he had made a mistake. Maybe he had made the wrong choice. Maybe he should have let Barnes kill him after all. Maybe he would do it himself.

* * *

When Roy returned to the kitchen with Chet and Marco, Cap said, "Everybody have a seat. Okay, we've all noticed that John has not been himself the past couple of weeks…"

"Well, that's an understatement," grumbled Chet.

"Shut up and listen, Kelly. Roy says he's done some reading that might shed some light on what's going on. Roy?"

"You all know I'm not a psychiatrist, but our paramedic's manual does have an extensive section on psychiatric conditions. I think Johnny is suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome."

"I've head of that. But Johnny's not a vet," said Chet.

"It doesn't affect just veterans. It affects anyone who has suffered a traumatic experience. And getting beat up and having someone hold a gun to your head and thinking you're going to die is a traumatic experience."

"So, you're saying that you think the way he's been acting is a reaction to getting mugged?" asked Cap.

"Yeah, I think so. Some of the most common symptoms are irritability and anger…"

"He's definitely got those! He damned near bites our heads off every time we try to talk to him!" commented Marco.

"…Insomnia, nightmares and flashbacks…"

"I don't know about the nightmares or flashbacks, but he ends up on the sofa every shift," observed Cap.

"…Restlessness…"

"He's never been able to sit still, but now it's like he's Ricochet Rabbit, or something," said Chet.

"…Fear…"

"Like with the snake the other day. It almost looked like he was going to cry for a minute." This perceptive comment came from Mike, who had until now said nothing.

"…Physical symptoms, like trembling, stomach problems, headaches, and lots of other psychological symptoms. The ones you'd notice might be depression and loss of interest in things he used to enjoy."

"So, what does this mean?" asked Chet.

"It means that he's not going to be himself for a while, until he gets over it."

"What can we do about it?" asked Cap.

"There really isn't a lot we can do. Don't treat him with kid gloves, but don't go out of your way to bug him, either. If he wants to talk, listen, but don't try to tell him how he should feel. We guys tend to want to fix stuff. That's how we are. But, that's not going to work here. Time is the best healer. I guess all we can do is be patient and be ourselves while he's trying to cope."

"How long is it going to take?"

"I don't know. Everybody is different."

Cap met the eyes of each man at the table. "I need to know right now if any of you think you can't trust Gage on the job. If you think he can't back you up. It's okay if you don't want to work with him."

"He's been a real pain in the ass around the station, but I haven't seen anything on the job that I can't live with," said Chet.

"He's keeping his professionalism on rescues. He backed me up on the hose the other day just fine," added Marco.

"I can work with him," agreed Mike.

"What about you, Roy? You work the most closely with him."

"I'm okay with him."

"If any of you have any other concerns about this, you know my door is always open."


	13. Chapter 13

Johnny sat on his heels just outside the back of the station. He felt cold, except for his back, which pressed against the wall that had been warmed by the sun all day. As he looked over the parking lot, all he saw were weeds and a rusty tin can up against the far wall. He didn't see the flowers valiantly pushing up through the cracks in the pavement. Didn't see the orange, pink and purple hues of a spectacular sunset. Didn't hear the birds singing on the wall as dusk approached. Didn't hear the wind rustling the leaves on the trees. Didn't smell the perfume of orange blossoms carried on the gentle breeze.

When Cap called him in to dinner, he obeyed on automatic pilot. Sat at the table with the rest of his shiftmates. Ate a few bites without tasting anything. Afterwards he sat on a chair and watched 'I Love Lucy,' with everyone else. Why did he ever think the show was funny? Nothing was funny. He was encased in stone. He was dead, and no one told his body.

* * *

Johnny stood next to the bed in the dorm, motionless, eyes unfocused, unmindful of the sheet he clutched in his hand. Remembering.

Mike started to walk through the doorway, but stopped when he saw Johnny standing there, and as the other man did not seem to notice him, he quietly backed away. Mike waited outside the door for a few moments. This was not the first time he had observed Johnny in such a state. It seemed to happen fairly frequently as of late, such as during meals, during conversation, in the middle of a mundane task, such as polishing the squad. The paramedic would be there one minute and gone the next. It wasn't a real obvious thing and possibly no one else remarked on it, but as a silent participant of station life, Mike didn't miss much. As far as he knew, Johnny had never spaced out on a run. If Mike had considered it a hazard, he would have said something to Cap. He waited until he heard the sound of movement in the dorm before going in.

* * *

The lid of the frying pan fell to the floor and slid under the table with a clatter after Marco set it down on the edge of the counter. Johnny, who had been studying a manual at the table, jumped at the sound.

"Sorry. It's just the lid. It slipped off the counter." Marco leaned down to pick it up, using Johnny's shoulder for balance as he reached under the table. He let go as soon as he felt the paramedic flinch at his touch and wobbled a bit, cracking his head on the table on the way back up.

"You okay?" asked Johnny.

"Yeah," Marco replied, rubbing his head and wincing.

"You want me to take a look?"

"Nah. It's okay." Marco turned back to the stovetop to finish the dinner preparations.

* * *

Cap walked back and forth in front of the men doing the knot drills. He frowned as he watched Johnny. Normally the paramedic was the first one done and his knots always looked the best. Today, he seemed to be all thumbs. A Cub Scout could do better. The glare Johnny bestowed on the rope should have made it spontaneously combust in his hands. "Nice work, Roy. Try it again, John." Cap continued down the line with his hands clasped behind his back. "The sheepshank man'o'war is a great knot for shortening a rope or relieving the stress on a worn part of rope."

* * *

Johnny had worked five days in a row. He thought if he were really busy, he wouldn't remember so much. But it didn't seem to matter what he activity he pursued, whether it be eating, sleeping, watching TV, or working. No matter what he did, the memories just kept coming back at the oddest times, in the middle of doing other things. The only exception seemed to be when on a rescue that required his full attention, when he focused completely on the task at hand. The remembering didn't seem to happen then.

He sat down tiredly on the sofa in the break room. In addition to the flashbacks, he still found it hard to surrender to sleep at night. And when he finally did fall asleep, too often he would dream about things he did not want to dream about. Today, he felt so exhausted that he began to drift off where he sat, listening to the sounds made by the rest of his shiftmates as they talked and moved around the room, hearing someone tune in the television to the six-o'clock news. His limbs felt leaden, his blood like molasses. He considered going to the dorm to lie down, but the languor cocooned him and held him to the sofa with silken threads in that hazy state between waking and sleeping.

Adrenaline snapped the threads as panic surged through him when someone sat down next to him on the sofa. He fairly sprung from the sofa and glanced wildly around the room. 'Like from zero to fifty,' he thought disjointedly, echoing the phrase from the commercial that had just been on television. Marco gave him a cursory glance and then returned his attention to the news. Oh, great. Marco had seen that. Like, how could he not notice? Heart pounding and mouth dry, Johnny started into the kitchen for a drink of water, then thought better of it when he saw Roy preparing chicken for dinner. He didn't want to add puking to the little display he was putting on for the rest of the crew. "I'm going to lie down in the dorm, Cap," he said as he headed out the door.

Cap followed him into the engine bay. "John!"

He turned around. "Yes?"

"How many straight shifts have you worked, Pal?"

"Uh, five."

"Way too many. You take these next two days off, hear? That's an order."

"Okay." He started to turn away.

"Gage."

"Yes?"

"I can't baby-sit you, pal. I have to think about the whole station. We're too busy. There's too much at stake. You've got to tell me if you can't handle it."

"Have you got a problem with the way I'm doing my job?"

Cap's eyebrows raised at the tone of the question. "Not with the way you're doing the job. No.. But, I have to admit, the way you act is beginning to worry me. I'm getting close to recommending you for a psych eval."

"Yes, sir. I'll take care of it. Sir."

Upon reaching the sanctuary of the dorm, he lay down on his bunk, with his arm flung up over his eyes. He would have to work harder at acting less crazy. There was absolutely no way he would talk about any of this with anyone he knew. He'd quit, first. He listened to the sounds of the station until he fell asleep.

* * *

Roy finished putting the meal on the table and looked around. "Where's Johnny?"

"In the dorm. He's probably sleeping. Let him rest. He looks really beat… uh, tired."

The other four looked at Cap; everyone paused in the act of sitting down at the table.

"He's still having a hard time with that." Chet stated the obvious.

Cap looked at his men. "Okay. Sit down. You guys have been really patient with him, and I appreciate it. I did talk with Dr. Wilson and he pretty much confirmed everything Roy told us. So, basically, what he needs is time and space. Just keep doing what you've always done. I do think he's getting better."

"It's taking a long time."

"Yeah. Well, I guess it takes as long as it takes. Are you all still okay with working with him? If you're not, I gotta know."

No one said anything for a few seconds. "So, can I resurrect the Phantom now?"

"This is not the time for a prank war, Chet. If the Phantom cannot control himself, make sure it's the garden-variety kind of stuff. And I'm not talking snakes. Okay. Any other comments?" Cap looked around the table. When no one said anything, he rubbed his hands together and said, "Let's eat."

* * *

"Uh, sorry." Johnny flushed as he realized he had just been lost in space while hanging hose with Mike.

"You know, I don't talk a lot. But I am good at listening. If you ever want to talk..."

"Thanks, Mike. I appreciate it."

The pair worked in silence for a few moments longer. "Uh, Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you still training for that marathon?"

"Yes. You want to start again?"

"No. I'm too out of shape now. I was just asking." Actually, he did want to start running again, but fear prevented him from doing it. He still had nightmares about Barnes chasing after him and he knew he could never run in the park again. He also feared running, or doing anything else, outside by himself, where he would be an easy target for Barnes.

"Are you sure? You're not exactly a sofa slug."

Johnny smiled, but didn't laugh. "No. I don't want to do it anymore."


	14. Chapter 14

As they looked for the address of the building they were to inspect, they passed a building with a big plate glass window in front. Glancing inside, Johnny saw several figures in a white uniform, most of whom wore a white or yellow belt, some a brown belt, and a few, a black belt. The sign painted above the window said 'Ishii-ha Shito-ryu Karate.' He stopped for a moment to watch. "Hey, look at this, Roy."

"Uh huh." Roy watched for a moment, looked at the address on the building, then consulted the clipboard in his hand. "Come on. It must be just a few doors down." He stopped beneath a sign reading 'Frank's Meat Shop – Quality, Service, Value – For All Your Grilling Needs.' He called back to his partner, who still stood watching the karate class. "C'mon, Johnny. This is it!"

Johnny looked over to where his partner had stopped. "Oh, man," Johnny said softly as he crossed the distance to the entrance. He knew that just walking in the door would make him start to gag. "Uh, Roy?"

"What?" Roy rifled through the papers on the clipboard, searching for the ones needed for the inspection.

"I can't go in there…" Johnny's expression clearly bespoke his distress.

Exasperation crept into Roy's voice. "Why not?"

Johnny looked at the ground, embarrassed. "I think it's the meat. The smell of raw meat makes me puke."

Roy looked at Johnny, then at the butcher's shop, and then back at his partner again. "Yeah. I think you're right. Okay, I'll do it. Why don't you just wait for me by the squad?"

"Thanks. I owe you one."

After Roy went into the butcher's shop, Johnny returned to watch the karate class through the window. He noticed that the class had men, women and children of all ages. The youngest ones appeared to be only five- or six-years-old. All the people looked like they were training hard, but also seemed to be having fun. Various activities went on in different parts of the room. Some children were doing a kind of standardized sparring on the mats. The kids grinned as they practiced with the adults. Some of the women appeared to be practicing how to get out of chokeholds. Johnny watched with surprise as one very tiny woman threw a much larger man down to the mat. He could see the man laugh as he got up, faced the woman, and began to dance around her again.

About twenty minutes later Roy appeared. "You okay?" he asked when he reached the squad.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"That was the last one on our list. Let's go home, and get some dinner, partner."

Johnny nodded and went around the front of the squad to take his seat.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of the wind on his face. He imagined he could still detect a faint odor from the butcher's shop clinging to Roy's clothing.

He must have looked pale, because Roy asked, "Johnny, are you going to be sick again?"

"No, I'm okay." After a minute, Johnny spoke unexpectedly. "You know, even the taste of cooked meat makes me puke."

Roy fell silent for a minute, thinking. "Yeah, I noticed."

"What do you think I should do about it?"

Roy shrugged. "I don't know. Become a vegetarian."

* * *

The members of Station 51 A-shift had been called out to assist at a barroom brawl. The engine crew had been able to return long before the paramedics, who accompanied the victims to the hospital. The scene at the bar had been pretty wild, with furniture, bodies and beer bottles flying everywhere. Roy could not fall asleep; he still felt keyed up from the rescue. Johnny, however, seemed to have drifted back to sleep. As Roy watched, his partner began to move restlessly and then suddenly flung his arms up, as if warding something off. Roy saw Johnny's eyes snap open and heard the rapid breathing. Johnny looked over at Roy, and then rolled over onto his right side, one arm over his head, his back to Roy. Soon Roy heard what sounded like the even breathing of sleep once more.

* * *

Johnny lay wide-awake in the bed, concentrating on slowing his breathing. These nightmares were driving him crazy. When he wasn't imagining the spectre of Barnes on the streets, then the ghost of Barnes haunted his dreams. There was no place to run. Once his heart had stopped pounding and he reined in his breathing, he listened in the dark to the sounds made by the other sleeping men. He paid attention to Roy's breathing. He felt guilty about the way he kept pushing his best friend away. Avoiding him. Maybe Roy would be better off without him, better off with another partner. Maybe he should transfer to another station, to another state, even. The even breath sounds coming from the next bunk told him that his partner must have fallen asleep. Johnny quietly sat up, and wearily rubbed his eyes. He gathered up his turnout gear and headed for the break room.

* * *

Roy watched him leave through shuttered lids, and then rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling through the darkness. Working with Johnny the past few weeks had almost been like working with a rookie. Not that Johnny made any mistakes, but he simply didn't take the lead any more. Still a good paramedic, he performed his job well, but sometimes he had to be told what to do. Just like last November when there had been that terrible mix-up with the certification exam. Roy wondered if his partner were losing his confidence again. He wondered how far he could let it go before he had to say something to Cap.

* * *

The kitchen duties fell to John Gage the next shift. He made spaghetti, with lots of onions, garlic, mushrooms, peppers, eggplant, and olives in the sauce. But, no meat.

As they sat down to eat, Marco commented on the lack of beef in the sauce.

"Yeah, well, it's called '_marinara_.' That means no meat in Italian."

"No, it doesn't. '_Marinara_' means seafood in Italian," objected Chet.

"How would you know? You're Irish, not Italian. Anyway, since you're the one so interested in health food, you should like this."

"Actually, '_marinara_' just means any tomato-based sauce," commented Mike.

"I like hamburger in my spaghetti sauce," said Chet.

"Did you know meat is really bad for you?" Johnny launched into lecture mode. "I've been reading this book that says meat is bad for you. The cholesterol clogs your arteries and causes heart attacks, you know. In fact, eating meat is bad for the whole planet. Did you know it takes sixteen pounds of grain to produce one pound of beef? You could feed sixteen people instead of just one. Not to mention all the waste products that cows produce. It's..."

"Okay, Gage. Get off your soapbox. The spaghetti is good," warned Cap.

"Well, meat is bad for you," Johnny muttered, subsiding. When the conversation resumed, he relaxed a bit. Here he was sitting at the table, eating dinner and not gagging on the food. He could do it. He could act normal. He was getting things back under control.

* * *

After a few shifts, everyone became accustomed to the idea that Johnny was serious about eating vegetarian. When Marco cooked his famous chili, he put some in a separate pot before adding the meat to the main pot. It was easy for Chet to set aside some potatoes, carrots, onions and other vegetables when making his Irish stew. The others either made similar adjustments in their recipes, or if something like pork chops graced the menu, Johnny just ate a cheese sandwich or something he had brought from home instead. The biggest complaint arose from the extra dirty pots and pans created, which Johnny tried to clean up himself as often as he could. The rest of A-shift discovered, much to their pleasant surprise, that Johnny's vegetarian dishes tasted pretty good. He fast became a creative, meatless cook. His biggest success proved to be his brown rice loaf; all agreed that the taste and texture surpassed even regular meatloaf.


	15. Chapter 15

Roy wrought a promise from Johnny to come see his son Chris' Little League game. They stopped by Johnny's apartment on the way to the baseball diamond, intending to give him a ride. Johnny had just come out of the building as Roy pulled up.

"So, are you ready? Everyone is waiting in the car."

"Yeah. Let's go."

Chris and Susan enthusiastically greeted Johnny. "Uncle Johnny! Uncle Johnny! Sit by me!" "No! Sit by me!" "He sat by you last time" "Did not!" "Did too!" "Mo-ommm! Chris said that Uncle Johnny sat by me last time!"

Johnny smiled and held up his hands, trying to ward the rambunctious children off. "Sorry, kids, I'm going to drive my own car."

"Can I ride with you?" two voices chimed together.

"No, you two just stay in our car," responded Joanne.

"Aww, Mom!" two voices whined in protested.

"I wanted to sit by you, Uncle Johnny," pouted Susan.

Johnny reached in the window to ruffle her hair. "At the game, sweetheart. Okay?"

* * *

As they walked to the bleachers, the children regaled Johnny with tales of recent events. They had not seen Johnny in nearly two months. Chris talked about his Little League baseball, and baseball in general; he could quote all the statistics. He soon ran off to join the rest of his team for warm ups.

As they took their seats in the bleachers, Susan wanted to know if Johnny still had all the pictures she crayoned for him, whether he liked her new doll, when he was coming over to read her a story, when he was coming over to see her new playhouse, if he liked strawberry Popsicles, and other concerns of the young and innocent.

The June day waxed hot and windless. The morning sun beat down upon spectator and player alike as Johnny sat in the bleachers with Roy, Joanne, and Susan. The little girl slept in his arms, the game and the hot sun having combined to put her asleep, despite all the yelling, clapping, stomping and cat-calls going on. Holding the sleeping child felt surprisingly comforting, like holding on to a cherished teddy bear. The weight of her body and the feel of her breath on his neck were soothing. He hadn't realized how much he missed touching and holding another person. At work, he couldn't stand for the others to touch him, to brush against his shoulder in passing or to stand too close to him. Even with Roy, he found himself handing objects to him so as to ensure minimal contact between their hands. Oddly enough, he didn't seem to mind physical contact with victims in the field as long as he acted well within his role of paramedic, as long as he controlled the touching. He rocked the sleeping child gently as he held her and kissed the top of her head. He hadn't been on a date since the assault, either. There wasn't anyone he wanted to go out with. No one interested him right now.

At the bottom of the ninth inning, the score was tied at three to three, with the bases loaded. Chris stepped up to bat and he hit a high fly over to left field. Johnny tracked it with his eyes, then stopped breathing. Stopped thinking. Stopped existing. He thought he saw Toby Barnes standing just outside the left field line, near the street. Was it Barnes or not? He stared at the man, unable to see clearly enough to know for sure.

"...Johnny?" Roy's voice finally registered in his ears and the rest of the world came rushing back in a riot of sight, sound and sensation. The light shone too brightly; the crowd roared too loudly; the heat bore down too heavily. It felt like the sun had burned off all the oxygen and his heartbeat pounded through every inch of his body. He had to get away. Now.

Handing the sleeping child to Joanne, he mumbled something about needing to get out of the sun. He just wanted to get away. He managed to make it out of the bleachers without stumbling, then blindly made his way toward the parking lot. Roy caught up with him halfway there and reached out a steadying hand to the elbow. "Are you okay?"

"Don't touch me!" Johnny hissed, jerking his arm out of Roy's grasp.

Roy observed Johnny's pale and sweaty face. "You don't look real good. I think you need to sit down in the shade and drink something. Come on over here." He tried to guide his partner over to some shade trees behind right field.

Johnny gagged and put a hand to his mouth. "I'm going to be sick." He vomited into the nearby bushes.

"I think you maybe have heat exhaustion, Johnny."

"Leave me alone." The words emerged as a mere moan while the retching continued. Finally, his system purged, there was nothing left to vomit. Trembling and weak, he allowed Roy to lead him to the shade, where he sat against the cool tree trunk, eyes closed.

"Wait here. I'll be right back." Roy left to get some cold compresses and some water to drink.

Sitting in the shade began to make him feel better. By the time Roy returned, he physically felt pretty good and the color returned to his face. Having decided that the man must not have been Toby Barnes after all, he grew irritated and embarrassed by his behavior. He had told himself the last time that he wasn't going to react this anymore. And now here he was, spooked by a stranger.

"Well, you look a lot better now." Roy commented, handing over the compress and a cup of water to which he had added some salt.

"Yeah. I guess you were right. Too much sun." Johnny avoided both Roy's hands and his eyes, giving his full attention to the objects being handed him.

By this time the game was over and Joanne walked over with Chris and the now awake Susan. "Are you okay?" Concern sounded in her voice.

"Uh, yeah. I haven't been out in the sun much lately. Too much sun." He stood up, shakily handing the cup and cloth back to Roy. "Look, I'm going to go home now, okay?" He needed to get away from the field, away from Roy, away from the spectre of Toby Barnes before he did something else to disgrace himself.

Roy nodded.

"It was good to see you, Joanne. Thanks for inviting me. Sorry I have to leave early." He started backing away. He paused, kneeling down to give Susan a hug. "Bye, sweetheart. See you later. Good game, Chris!" As he squeezed Chris's shoulder, he realized that he didn't even know which team had won.

* * *

Johnny answered the knock at the door to find his partner standing outside.

"Hi. Can I come in?"

Johnny's gaze met Roy's eyes for a second before darting into the hallway beyond, seeming to search for someone.

"Isn't everyone waiting for you in the car?"

"No. I took them all home after the picnic." As Johnny moved aside to allow Roy to enter the apartment, Roy commented about the deadbolt. "I see you got a new lock."

"Uh, yeah." Johnny's words tumbled out quickly. "You remember how it always used to stick when it rained? I finally changed it."

"Oh," said Roy, fishing his ring of car keys out of his pocket. "Well, I guess I can throw this one out, then?" Roy removed the old key from the key ring in his hand.

Johnny looked at Roy's hand, nonplussed. Then he said, eyes averted, "I had to give the extra key to my landlady. I've been meaning to get a key made for you. I just keep forgetting." He closed the door and turned around. "You want anything to drink?"

"No, I'm okay."

The two men sat down in the living room. Roy noticed a hole in the wall and the absence of the television set. "What happened to your TV?"

"Broken. Couldn't be fixed."

A strained silence stretched between them. Roy took a deep breath, determined to broach the uncomfortable reason he had returned to his friend's apartment. "Johnny, I know you're still bothered by getting mugged last April. I want to help you. Let me help you."

After a few more moments of silence, Johnny admitted, "Roy, you do help me… I know you're there… But, I…" He stopped, swallowing hard, blinking. "I'm sorry I've been such a piece of shit, lately. You deserve a better partner."

"I've got the best partner I could want, Johnny." Roy cleared his throat with embarrassment. He began to appreciate why Johnny didn't seem to want to talk with him. Or, go to see the shrink. It was hard to talk about feelings, especially with another man. It was easy to talk about them in the abstract, the way they were presented in the textbooks. Or, to whisper 'I love you' to your wife, safely shrouded in the ethereal shadows of the night. But in the harsh light of day, when they were dumped in your lap like a plate of cold spaghetti, when they were staring you in the face, when they were your own emotions, it became harder than hell to talk. He would rather fight a seven-alarm fire at an oil refinery.

He cleared his throat and said, "I think you're suffering from PTSS."

"What?"

"Post-traumatic stress syndrome. It's a normal reaction to a traumatic event, like getting mugged."

"Yeah, I know what it is. Vietnam vets get it."

"No, not just vets. I read about it in that new paramedic manual."

"Look. All that happened was I got beat up. It's no big deal. It used to happen to me all the time growing up. So somebody punched my lights out. No big deal."

Roy gazed at Johnny. He hadn't known this about his partner. Johnny rarely mentioned anything about his family and almost nothing about his youth or childhood. This knowledge fit in with everything he had read about PTSS. "Well, I think it's a bigger deal than you think. There's no shame in asking for a little help in dealing with it."

Johnny's eyes narrowed. "I can deal with it."

"I know you can. I'm just saying that sometimes we need a little help."

"I'm not going to see a shrink, Roy."

"I didn't say you should. But, you're keeping everything bottled up. I, uh… I wish you'd talk to me. Or to someone."

"There isn't much to talk about, Roy. I don't know what to say."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"So, it's in the manual?"

"Yeah. RTFM, Junior," Roy said with a small, frustrated smile as he stood to leave. He didn't feel like he had helped Johnny any, but at least they weren't yelling at each other like the last time Roy had come over to try to help Johnny with a problem.

"Roy. Thanks for coming by."

"Any time, Johnny."

* * *

Johnny leaned his back against the door after he closed and locked it. Post traumatic stress syndrome? No, it was no big deal. He had just gotten beat up. That was all. No big deal. He could handle it. He would show everybody he could handle it. He would show everybody he was a man.

He crossed to the telephone and lifted the receiver from the hook. The dial tone droned like an irritated bee, impatient for him to make up his mind. He dialed the first three numbers of an exchange and then hung up the phone again. There weren't a lot of options for what he wanted to do, but he chose what seemed to be the best one.

* * *

The red of a neon light bathed the room with its obscene glare, pulsing in a regular rhythm. The man sat on the edge of the bed, putting his shoes and socks back on. His face appeared handsome in profile. Sure, it was just another job to her, but it always seemed more pleasant with an attractive client. She felt kind of sorry for this one, though.

The woman reached out and began to rub a small circle on the man's back, then quickly withdrew the hand when the man flinched. "I wouldn't worry about it, honey. It happens all the time. Trust me. It will be better next time," she said as soothingly as she could.

He turned and looked at her. Something flashed in the black depths of his eyes, and she shrank back, afraid. He left the room without a word and without a backward glance, relieved that he had chosen to try this anonymously, with someone he would never see again.

He prowled the streets where the hookers plied their trade, heedless of where he went. He just needed to be moving. The area he traversed would never be called a really good part of town, and by being there, it was almost as if he were inviting another mugging. A few of the working girls called out to him as he passed. He ignored them, and they retreated from his dark expression. A couple of panhandlers tried to hit him up for a handout, but after seeing his face they quickly apologized for bothering him. Whether it was something in his walk or the look in his eyes, no one tried to accost the lone man haunting the streets that night.

Angry and confused, his thoughts ran into dead ends and blind alleys. Who was he? What was he? The things Barnes had done to him and forced him to do were revolting to him. It nauseated him, and just thinking about it made him gag. He was not attracted to other men. And yet, he had no explanation for what had happened, for how he had responded. Had he enjoyed it? He shuddered. He thought he was still attracted to women. But what good was that? He had gone to the prostitute, looking for answers. Well, he had gotten them, all right. When he was with the woman tonight, he could do nothing. Nothing. This had never happened to him before, and he now felt sure that women would no longer be attracted to him. Attracted to someone who was less than a man.

The eastern sky had begun to lighten when he finally got into his car and drove back to his apartment.


	16. Chapter 16

Sleep eluding him, Johnny paced the apartment irritably, still stung by the appalling debacle of the previous evening. He needed to move and his body craved challenging exercise, wanted to sweat, to work hard at something physical. Being trapped indoors, doing calisthenics inside his apartment, and running up and down the stairs for aerobic exercise bored him beyond belief. One of his deepest desires centered on running outside again. He sorely missed the feel of the wind and sun on his face, the rhythm of running, and the meditation-in-motion state that some people called 'the runner's high.' The problem lay in his fear of being outside, alone, exposed, in the open. He hated feeling so damned afraid all the time.

Angry now, he decided to take charge. Hadn't he just spent the night walking the streets? Surely he could run outside again. Yanking open the dresser drawer, he grabbed out a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt. As he pulled them on, he felt strangely naked. He furiously shoved the feeling aside and reached into the closet for his running shoes. Shocked, he stared aghast at the shoes in his hands. How could he not have noticed the blood stains on them before? He flung them away as if they were poisonous snakes. If he had just run a 50-yard dash in six seconds flat, his breathing would be no faster. His knees gave way and he sat down hard on the edge of the bed. He gagged. No! He refused to vomit again! He sat very still until the nausea subsided. Shivering now, he hugged himself, rocking back and forth. With trembling hands, he wrapped himself in a blanket and curled up into a small ball on the bed, eyes dry, lying there for a long time before falling asleep.

In the early afternoon, he awoke, feeling better after the short sleep, and stretching the kinks out of his back, he pondered what to do. He really did need to get some form of exercise, but obviously running wasn't going to be it. He decided to go back to the place that he had seen a couple of shifts ago, the martial arts studio near the butcher's shop. Decision made, he bounded out of the bed to take a shower. On the way there, he scooped up the running shoes and dropped them into the rubbish bin.

* * *

He sat cross-legged on the floor near the door, watching the class that was already in progress.

"_Ichi_!" The group stepped forward in unison with their right foot, knee bent at almost a ninety-degree angle, left leg locked behind. At the same time, their left fists thrust forward from the hip, the heavy fabric of the uniform sleeve making an audible snap.

"_Ni_!" Repeating the movements on the opposite side, this time the students smoothly slid the left foot past the right foot before stepping out with the left leg bent and punching with the right fist. The movement was low and fluid, with the head remaining on the same level throughout. The speed and power of the graceful, yet crisply defined motion mesmerized Johnny.

"_San_! _Shi_! _Go_! _Roku_! _Shichi_! _Hachi_! _Kyu_! _Ju_!" The group moved forward one step as the teacher called out each command.

"_Kiai_!" A loud, visceral cry filled the room as they completed the sequence.

Johnny continued to watch the class for an hour and a half, apparently having arrived just as it began. While he observed, the students continued to perform several more line drills and then they did something called '_kata_,' which were choreographed sequences of steps, blocks, kicks and punches. The teacher, whom the students called '_sensei_,' explained what each of the movements meant and the purpose behind it.

Next, the students paired off for '_kumite_,' or sparring. The students placed mats on the floor before they began, and they wore special knuckle pads on their hands. He had seen them doing this before, when he was watching through the window while Roy inspected the butcher's shop.

Lastly, they brought out various weapons for '_kobudo_' practice. The precise movements appeared both dangerous and beautiful as the long, wooden _bo_ cut through the air with a low whoosh and the three-pronged metallic _sai_ clashed together.

The class ended with the students kneeling and bowing respectfully to the sensei. Both the physical workout the class seemed to afford and the quiet dignity and strength displayed by all the participants, from child to adult, impressed Johnny. This was something he desired and needed.

After the class ended, one of the female black belts approached him. Johnny had not failed to notice that she was a very attractive woman, and he had been mostly watching her throughout the class. She knelt down on the floor in front of where he sat and smiled. "Hello. My name is Midori Ishii. Are you interested in studying karate?"

Johnny smiled in return. "My name is John Gage. I don't know anything about it. Is that what this is?"

"Hai. This _dojo_... this school belongs to my father, Ishii Sensei. _Shito-ryu_ is an Okinawan style of karate."

"Well, this is amazing. I've never seen anything like it."

"Would you like to study? Come, I'll introduce you to my father." Midori rose gracefully from the floor. Johnny lurched upward without any noticeable grace, stiff from sitting on the floor so long.

Midori led him over to a short man who looked to be in his fifties. They waited silently and respectfully while the sensei finished a conversation with another student. Johnny noticed that the student bowed to the sensei before leaving. When Midori introduced Johnny to her father, he attempted to execute a similar bow.

Ishii Sensei bowed in return, a pleased smile upon his lips. They talked for a while about the class, with Midori serving as translator. Then Ishii Sensei raised his hands and asked, "I look eyes, please?" Startled, Johnny agreed. The sensei placed his hands on the sides of Johnny's face and tilted his head one way and then another. Still holding Johnny's face, the man requested, "Stick tongue, please." Johnny complied, feeling vaguely foolish. "Hold hands, please." The sensei examined Johnny's nail beds and then grasped his hands in a surprisingly strong grip. The man closed his eyes, holding on for several excruciatingly long minutes. Just when Johnny thought he could no longer stand it, the sensei opened his eyes, releasing Johnny's hands and stating abruptly, "_Ki_ no good. Need more yin. Karate balance ki. Help you." Johnny vaguely remembered hearing something about ki somewhere before. He thought it meant energy or life force. "You come tomorrow. We begin."

"I have to work tomorrow. Could I come the next day?"

"Hai."

Johnny smiled with relief and agreed to return the next day. He bowed once more, bidding the sensei farewell.

Midori accompanied him to the door of the _dojo_. "How tall are you?"

"Six-one."

"I'll have a _gi_ for you when you come. Wear shorts and a T-shirt. You can put the _gi_ on over the top of them. Class begins at four o'clock."

"_Gi_?"

She indicated her white outfit with a wave of her hands. "_Gi_ is what we call our uniform."

"Thank you, Midori. I'll see you the day after tomorrow."

* * *

Johnny landed flat on his back, the air leaving his lungs with a grunt, but managed to keep his head off the floor. He blinked up at Midori standing over him.

"You did a good job of not hitting your head. Now, watch this," she instructed, falling backwards and striking the mat with her arms. "When you slap the mat, palms down, it distributes the weight from your fall, and keeps you from losing your breath. Okay, you try."

Johnny gamely got to his feet again, and fell back into the mat, this time executing the slap. It did feel much better, and he grinned.

"Good. Again."

He repeated the exercise several times, until Midori seemed satisfied. "Okay. Now we are ready to practice the sparring techniques we worked on earlier. You stand here. First we bow to each other. Then, when you hear '_yame_,' we stop. Understand?"

"_Hai_."

"_Yoi_. Bow. _Hajime_."

The two slowly circled each other in sparring stance. Midori flowed around Johnny's movements, with a springing, darting step. Although he stood a foot taller than the diminutive instructor and his reach was longer, she moved more quickly, her low stance giving her the balance and strength to move in and out with agility and to shift direction seemingly without effort. She managed to tag him time after time.

"Don't think punch! Think pull! Pull back even faster than you strike out! Pull back all the way, you're stopping too soon... You're leaning. That puts you off balance... Keep your spine straight and your knees bent." Midori offered corrective comments as they practiced. Suddenly, she decisively swept his back foot out from under him, and he hit the mat with a whump.

"_Yame_!" Ishii Sensei's voice rang out across the dojo.

Midori extended a hand to Johnny as he got to his feet. The two bowed to each other and then began to help roll up the mats.

* * *

After class Midori stopped to talk with Johnny. "How did you like the class?"

"I liked it a lot. It's a really good workout."

Midori laughed. "Yes, for everyone, new students and black belts, too. We work very hard in class. Shiatsu helps when we are really sore."

"Shiatsu? That's… uh… I've heard that word before."

"It's the Japanese art of applying pressure along the meridians of the body to improve the flow of ki and restore the harmony of the body, mind and spirit. I practice shiatsu, as does my father. He is a master healer."

"I have a friend who knows a little about shiatsu. It sounded interesting."

Midori smiled. "Maybe I can teach you that, too."

Johnny's answering smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He seriously doubted that the young woman would want to spend any time with him.

Ishii Sensei approached the two and said something in Japanese to his daughter. Turning to Johnny, she said, "I have to teach the next class. My father says he wants to teach you _mokuso_. How to meditate. Go with him now."

"Come." Ishii Sensei took Johnny into a smaller room off the main floor of the dojo.

"Sit. Like so." The sensei sat on his knees and indicated that Johnny should do the same.

"You know _mokuso_? Meditate?"

"Uh, no."

"I teach you. Help balance ki. Close eyes. Breathe nose. Ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku. Breathe mouth. Ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku. Make noise. From here." The Sensei placed a hand on Johnny's belly. "Hai. Focus breath. Be breath. Not do. Be."

Johnny tried to follow the Sensei's instructions. They meditated for only ten minutes, but still Johnny's legs had fallen asleep and his mind had wandered constantly. He always thought that meditating involved letting your mind run free and just relaxing. The enormous concentration required surprised him and pulling his legs out from under him, he rubbed them vigorously, trying to restore the circulation.

"Meditation good. Help balance ki. You practice every day. No can sit like that, sit like this." Ishii Sensei sat cross-legged. "Try every day. Hai?"

"Hai," replied Johnny.


	17. Chapter 17

Johnny groaned a little as he rose from the chair, the residual soreness from the karate class making itself known. He always thought his legs were pretty strong, but the protest from stiff muscles evinced that he had new ones he hadn't even known were there. He stretched his arms up over his head and leaned back. Even his back and shoulders were a bit sore.

"What's the matter with you? Getting old?" teased Chet.

"No. I'm just a little sore from the karate class I took the other day."

"You're taking karate?"

"Yeah. I just started."

"Where are you doing that?" asked Roy, looking up from the paper he was reading.

"Remember that place we saw next to the butcher's shop a couple of weeks ago?"

Roy shrugged. "I remember the butcher's shop. I don't really remember the karate place."

"It's pretty interesting. And surprisingly hard." He kneaded his quadriceps. "The sensei, that's the word for teacher, makes it look so easy, though. She's only about five feet tall…"

"She?" Chet asked, with a smirk. "Oh, so that's why you're taking the class."

Johnny shot Chet an irritated glance before continuing to address Roy. "That's not why. Anyway, she makes it look so easy. We were sparring and she kept nailing me every time before I even got close to her. She's really fast. And she kept taking me down to the mat like it was nothing."

"Didn't know you were into submission, Gage." Chet waggled his eyebrows lasciviously. "Didn't think you were the type…"

Anger flashed across Johnny's face. "Shut up, Chet!" he snapped and abruptly turned, seeming to flee the room.

Roy glared at Chet in exasperation before retreating behind his newspaper.

"What?" Chet asked. "What? It's not my fault he's so thin-skinned. He can't take a joke anymore."

* * *

"Morning, guys," Chet greeted Roy and Johnny as they entered the locker room.

"Morning, Chet," the two responded, almost in unison. "Hiya, Marco," Johnny added as he passed the man on his way to his locker.

"Morning, Johnny." Marco ostensibly pretended to be busy getting dressed, but actually he was curious to see if Chet's latest foray in practical jokedom would be successful or not. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the shaving cream pie miss the paramedic and land with a mushy splat on the opposite locker.

"Missed again, Chet," smirked Roy, just as Cap poked his head into the room to tell the men to gather for roll call.

Taking in the white globs slowly oozing down the front of the locker, he said, "Clean up that mess after roll call, Kelly. Two minutes, guys."

Seven minutes later found Chet back in the locker room, cleaning up the remains of this latest practical joke gone awry. His puzzlement grew over his seeming inability to catch Johnny with his jokes any more. True, his pigeon still verbally set himself up all the time, although he often left in a snit when Chet teased him. But, Johnny seemed to be circumventing a lot of Chet's best physical pranks, such as shaving cream pies, water balloons, rigged salt shakers and coffee cups. Had the paramedic developed a sixth sense or something? Chet began to worry that he was losing his touch.

* * *

"Cap just told me about what happened to Captain Walker at 127s," Roy mentioned to Johnny as they dressed down one evening.

"What happened?"

"He fell through the floor at an apartment fire."

"Is he okay?"

"Broken leg and some burns. He'll be out a good three months at least. He's a good man, I really enjoyed working with him when he was here. It's too bad.."

Johnny continued preparing his turnout pants, his thoughts a million miles away. Roy, upon seeing that Johnny was no longer paying attention to him, struck up a conversation with Marco, when Johnny interrupted, "What kind of fire was it?"

"Huh?"

"Was it intentional or accidental?"

"I didn't hear anything, so I assume it was accidental."

"Hmm," came Johnny's noncommittal reply as he turned back to fiddling with his gear.

* * *

Roy sleeplessly lay on his right side in the quiet dark of the dorm, worrying about the man he called partner and friend. He felt like he stood on a distant shore, watching someone drown, helpless, unable to do anything to assist. Roy scrubbed a hand over his face. No, it wasn't like watching from a distance. It felt more like holding a hand out to someone who was drowning, only to have that person refuse to reach out and take the proffered hand. Roy alternated between wanting to grab his partner and haul him aboard despite the lack of cooperation and being content to wait until his partner was ready for help.

The tones sounded and they rolled out of bed, thrusting their feet into their turnout pants and pulling them up. Johnny met Roy's eyes for the briefest of seconds before looking away, a slight fllush staining his cheeks.

* * *

As he watched Johnny free climb the radio tower in the glare of the floodlights, Cap briefly reflected on the fact that the dark-haired paramedic had once again volunteered for a hazardous assignment. He had been monitoring the man's behavior closely, but none of it raised a red flag for him in terms of the paramedic's professional abilities. True, Johnny's behavior could still be called a bit testy, which did make station-life unpleasant at times, but if being hard to live with were grounds for a psychiatric evaluation, half of LACoFD would be in the shrink's office at any given time. He thought Roy probably bore the brunt of it, but Roy neither complained nor mentioned anything to him. Professionally speaking, Cap had no complaints about Johnny. If he had noticed any recklessness, he would have been worried; however, the man performed his duties with meticulous care, never taking unwarranted chances or foolish risks. The others also expressed their confidence in working with him and, to Cap, Johnny seemed to be recovering from his ordeal of a few months ago, save perhaps this new penchant for the dangerous, adrenaline-rush aspect of work.

* * *

"You want to go fishing up in Santa Clara County next weekend?"

"Uh, no thanks. I've already got other plans." Johnny looked away, feeling guilty and ashamed. He considered Roy his best friend, yet he kept pushing him away. But, how could he explain to the other man that he feared going camping with him? The panic he felt whenever his partner got too close, because of what might be discovered? That he dreaded finding out that Roy might loathe him as much as he loathed himself if only he knew the terrible truth? "Roy…?"

Roy looked back over his shoulder at Johnny with raised eyebrows. "Yes?"

"Nothing." Johnny turned back to his locker.

* * *

Roy considered Johnny as he walked out to his car. He really thought for a minute there that Johnny might change his mind, seeing the plea in his partner's eyes. But, was it a plea to be left alone or a plea to come closer? He didn't know. If Roy had been asked to characterize Johnny in two words, he would have chosen the phrase "eternal optimist." His partner always seemed to expect good things to happen and was genuinely surprised if they didn't. And when things didn't turn out the way Johnny anticipated, as often was the case, the man almost always found a way to turn the result into something else satisfying. This good-natured, almost innocent outlook on life drew people to him, to his warmth of spirit, to his generosity of heart.

But since getting mugged, something darker had intruded. Johnny was less trusting, less willing to take things at face value. He appeared less open and his actions were a hair more cautious; he seemed almost painfully aware of people and things around him. The personal space boundaries with which all people surround themselves had altered as well. Roy noticed that Johnny stood just a few centimeters farther off during their conversations, as well as remarked on the slightly different way his partner handed objects to him, ensuring that their hands would barely touch. And, the subtle movements the paramedic made whenever anyone in the station crossed the newly defined personal space barriers did not escaped Roy's attention either.

Roy missed his old partner. The way Johnny was be shutting him out, the way he treated him as just another casual acquaintance instead of a good friend truly hurt. Confused by the way his partner no longer seemed to trust him and how he seemed to be almost afraid of him, Roy felt angry about seeing his friend in so much pain and not being able to do anything. He just didn't know what to do.


	18. Chapter 18

Ishii Sensei traditionally addressed the students at the end of class. "Karate teach _rei_. Respect. Respect sensei. Respect dojo. Respect self."

As Johnny bowed with the rest of the class, his mind wandered. Respect sensei, yes. Respect dojo, yes. Respect self, no.


	19. Chapter 19

**July, 1977**

The men enjoyed their ritual morning cup of coffee before tackling the rest of the day's housekeeping assignments. Johnny leaned against the counter as he sipped the brew in his mug and munched on a donut from the package that Cap brought in that morning. The others sat around the table. Chet and Marco were talking about their respective dates on the previous days off.

"How come we never hear anything about any of your dates anymore, Gage?" asked Chet. "Are you becoming a Japanese priest, like that kung fu TV show?" Chet made a fake, martial arts noise while slicing his hands through the air.

Johnny flushed slightly. "That's about a Chinese priest, Chet."

"Whatever. You never go out any more, Gage."

"I go out. You just don't know any of the girls. So what are you now? My social director?"

"Well, you can use all the help you can get with the chicks." Chet smoothed his mustache with his thumb as he spoke.

"I don't need your help. I've been busy." He had to stop himself before he told any lies that might trip him up later. He turned around, dumped the rest of the coffee into the sink, rinsed out the cup, and put it in the dish drainer. Wiping his hands on his pants, he announced, "I'm going to go clean the latrine."

Chet watched him go, without making another comment. He and Marco exchanged a glance. After a beat Chet said, "He's really different now."

"Yeah," Marco agreed. Mike also nodded his head. The three looked at Roy, expectantly. Roy just shrugged his shoulders and continued drinking his coffee.

"Why do I see so many people sitting around the table? Don't you men have enough to do?" challenged Cap.

"C'mon, Chet. Let's go hang hose." Marco and Chet hurriedly rinsed out their mugs and left the kitchen. Chet's voice could be heard, saying, "Must be all those vegetables he eats..."

Mike regarded Roy for a moment longer, shook his head almost imperceptibly, and then left to attend to the task that he had been assigned.

Roy met Cap's eyes, and shrugging again, shook his head briefly. He, too, rinsed out his cup and then set out to perform the housekeeping duty that fell to him for the day.

Cap mentally shrugged, and after adding more coffee to his cup, headed for his office to try to tame the paper monster that dwelt within.

* * *

A few hours later, Cap entered the latrine just as Johnny finished cleaning it and was gathering up the cleaning supplies. "Nice job, John. The place really shines."

Pushing his hair back from his sweaty forehead, Johnny smiled, "Thanks, Cap."

Cap frowned, a wave of paranoia surging through his body. "Chief McConnike isn't coming over here today, is he?"

Johnny shook his head and smiled more broadly. "Don't think so."

* * *

Everyone worked in the engine bay, cleaning the apparatus after the last run. Chet sang as he polished the engine, "I can't get no-o sat-is-fac-tion! But I try! And I try! And I try! And I try! I can't get no! No, no, no!"

Rationally, Johnny knew the song wasn't directed at him, but it irritated him anyway. He did manage to keep his mouth shut however. Inhale, ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku. Exhale, ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku.

Chet serenaded the rest of the crew with a different Stones' hit now. "She's a ho-o-o-o-on-ky-tonk wom-an! Gimme, gimme, gimme the honky tonk girl!" It wouldn't have been so bad if Chet sounded more like Mick Jagger. At least Chet wasn't singing _Paint It_ _Black_. But then, Chet probably wouldn't sing a song about depression; he would stick to songs about sex and women, like the one he was presently warbling. "Oh, brown sugar! How come you make me feel so good?" No one felt more grateful than Johnny when Marco finally demanded that they turn on the radio.

* * *

They had just delivered their patient to Rampart and were preparing to head back to the Station.

"Squad 51 available."

Roy hesitated, hand on the key in the ignition, and then spoke. "I have an extra ticket to the Angels' game tomorrow. Want to come?"

"Uh, no thanks. I have something else to do."

Roy looked over at his partner in exasperation. "Why are you avoiding me?"

That familiar deer-in-the-headlights look swept over Johnny's features as he stammered out yet another excuse. Roy had long since stopped asking for help with the never-ending multitude of projects that accompanied home-ownership, as his partner always seemed to have one reason or another as to why he couldn't come over. "Have I done something to offend you?"

Johnny sighed and looked down at his feet. "No, Roy, you haven't. It's not you. It's me. I'm sorry. Why don't you ask Chet or Marco? I'm sure they'd like to go."

Now Roy puffed out a small breath of irritation as he started up the engine. If he wanted to spend time with Chet or Marco, he would have asked one of them in the first place. "You are driving me nuts, Johnny."

Johnny leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Yeah, me too."

"Did you think about talking with someone yet?"

"Why? Are you afraid to work with a crazy person?"

"I didn't say that. I just think you need to talk with someone."

"You got a problem with the way I'm doing my job? You want a different partner?"

"I didn't say that, Johnny! I just said… Never mind. Let's drop it."

"Okay."

The remainder of the ride continued in silence. When they arrived back at the station, the rest of the crew sat gathered in the break room, watching a documentary program on public television.

As he entered the room, Johnny heard the tail end of the commentator's introduction, " ... the shockingly common occurrence of prison rape." He immediately reversed direction, backpedaling into Roy, inadvertently trodding upon his partner's toes. "Sorry!" Johnny whirled around, knocking Roy back a step farther as he fled into the kitchen.

Roy stared nonplussed at the rapidly retreating back. None of the others seemed to have noticed the scene in the doorway. He glanced at the television, which now showed a man standing in front of a building, talking. He headed into the kitchen, where he found Johnny standing over the sink, drinking water. "Are you all right?"

Trying to slow his breathing and calm his pulse, Johnny had not heard Roy come up behind him. He jumped back, eyes panicked. '_Does he know?_' Then, noting Roy's confused and concerned expression, he forced himself to breathe deeply. '_He doesn't know._' "Uh, yeah. Just thirsty. Sorry about stepping on your foot," he said as casually as he could manage, dumping the glass of water out and then filling it up again. _'Go away._' He sent the silent thought to his partner while pretending to drink water. When Roy didn't seem to get the telepathic message, Johnny set the glass down and headed towards the door opening out to the engine bay.

"Where are you going?" Roy asked, with a puzzled expression on his face.

"To the latrine, if that's okay with you," he replied, never breaking stride.

Roy looked at the glass in the sink and then mentally shrugged as he rinsed it out and added it to the dish drainer. Pouring himself a cup of coffee before wandering back into the break room, he gave Henry a gentle shove to move him over and sat down on the sofa to watch the ball game now playing on the television.


	20. Chapter 20

Johnny had just returned from karate. While showering, he thought about the class and about Midori. Man, she was beautiful. He liked her smile. Her eyes. The sound of her voice. The way she moved. He still had eyes and ears. She seemed so different from the other women he had known. She didn't seem to be a game player; but then, maybe he just didn't know Japanese games. At any rate, he didn't think of her as a conquest, the way he had thought of so many other women. Given other circumstances, he might have pursued her. Or not. He knew she wouldn't be interested in someone like him. 'Why me?' he asked himself for what must have been the millionth time. Was he somehow giving off 'gay vibes' that made Barnes want to rape him? Is that why none of his relationships with women lasted? What was wrong with him?

* * *

He rolled over in bed and looked at the clock. Two in the morning. With an exasperated sigh, he got up and went into the living room. He hauled out the phone book and dialed the number just inside the front cover. Roy was right: he had to talk to someone.

"Mercy General Rape Crisis Center. This is Andrea. How may I help you?"

"Uh…" He cleared his throat. "Uh… I… do you, uh…"

"Sir, would you like to speak with a male counselor?"

"Um, yes. Yes, I would." The relief was evident in his voice.

A male voice came on the line. "Hi. My name is Sam."

"Hi… Uh, do I have to tell you my name?" His heart already started to beat faster.

"No. Not if you don't want to."

"Okay. I don't want to."

"That's fine." Sam waited a few seconds for the voice on the other end of the line to speak. "What can I help you with?" he asked when Johnny didn't say anything.

"I, uh… Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

"No, no, it's okay. Just take your time. You don't need to rush." The voice sounded patient to Johnny.

They talked for about ten minutes before Johnny finally got to the purpose of his call.

"I…" He held his breath, trying to fight back the tears he swore he wasn't ever going to shed again.

"Just take your time. Try to relax. I'll be right here." Sam could hear the gasps for breath followed by long pauses. "Try to take long, slow breaths. Relax. It's okay."

Inhale, ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku. Exhale, ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku. Finally Johnny could breathe without gasping. "Last April…" he began, but had to stop again.

"Yes? Keep breathing. It's okay."

"He had a gun. He…"

"Yes. You're doing really well. It's okay. Just take your time." The voice sounded calm and encouraging to Johnny.

Johnny nodded, even though he knew the other man couldn't see him. He used his hand to wipe his nose, which had started to run. Why hadn't he thought to bring any Kleenex with him to the phone? "Um…" He took another shaky breath. "Have you been raped?" he asked abruptly.

"Yes."

"Are you gay?"

"No."

"I thought this only happened to gay men!" Johnny burst out angrily.

"That's a common misconception. But it can happen to anybody. Rape is more about anger and power than sex."

"So, I'm not gay, then."

"Being raped doesn't suddenly turn you gay. Discovering our sexual identity is a process, not an event. Were you thinking about the possibility before?"

"No." A long silence ensued after this response.

"What else worries you?"

"Uh… He… I…" Johnny gagged. "Just a minute…" he gasped, holding the receiver against his leg as he struggled against his rising nausea. When he lost the battle, he threw down the phone and ran for the bathroom. He returned after a few moments. "You still there?"

"Yes. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just thinking about this makes me sick. I had to puke." His voice sounded shaky.

"I'm sorry."

"He… When… he… was raping me…"

"Yes. I'm so sorry." The voice conveyed acceptance.

"He… he jerked me off. I couldn't… couldn't… didn't want… omigod…" Johnny held his breath, determined not to start crying.

"It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong. It's okay. I'm so sorry." Sam couldn't hear any sound, so he asked, "Are you still there?"

"Yes." Johnny gasped for air after holding his breath for so long, relieved that he could detect no trace of condemnation or disgust in the voice.

"I want to tell you something really important that most men don't realize. Are you able to listen right now?"

"Wait a minute." Inhale, ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku. Exhale, ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku. He completed a few cycles and then said, "I'm ready, now."

"Okay. Many people think a man cannot have an erection if he is afraid. But, fear is a state of extreme arousal. It has nothing to do with desire."

Silence. "Is that true?" His voice was barely audible.

"Yes."

Johnny inhaled and exhaled audibly. "I can't believe I didn't know that." What good was all his medical training if he didn't know the simple mechanics of male anatomy?

"Most people don't. Male rape just isn't widely acknowledged, much less discussed."

"Huh." He fell silent a moment and then added, "This has really messed up my mind."

"Yes. It is extremely difficult for us deal with being raped. We just don't expect it to happen. It's humiliating. We all think we can defend ourselves. It just never occurs to us that we might not be able to."

"Yeah."

"It's not your fault, you know. There was probably nothing you could have done to prevent it. And the fact that you're alive now shows that you did everything you could. You handled it right. You survived. That takes a lot of strength and courage."

"I think I'm going to hang up now." His mind started going numb and he couldn't think any more.

"Okay. I'm glad you called. If you ever want to talk, please call back again any time. Again, my name is Sam, and you can ask for me, if you like. Or, you can talk with any of the people here."

"When do you usually work?"

"It varies. You can leave your number if you like, and I can call you."

"No. I don't want to do that."

"That's okay. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. I'm really glad I got to talk with you. You can call back any time you like."

"Maybe I will. Thanks, Sam."

"You're welcome."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Johnny hung up the phone. He sat on the sofa for a minute and then lay down, one arm over his eyes. Exhausted, he fell asleep almost immediately.


	21. Chapter 21

Johnny and Ishii Sensei had just finished meditating together. Johnny never questioned Sensei's interest in him, he just knew that he needed it the way a plant needed sun and water. "Ki better now, Johnny-san. You practice meditate, hai?"

"I try."

"Yes. _Mokuso_ hard work. Mind like little child. Run around. Need discipline. Hard work." Ishii Sensei smiled. "Lie down, please." He indicated the mat with a wave of his hand. After Johnny complied, he asked, "You know shiatsu?"

"Uh, a little."

"You breathe. I do. You tell if hurt."

Ishii Sensei positioned Johnny in such a way as to open the channel he was working on. He used not only his fingers and thumbs, but his palms and elbows to manipulate the various pressure points where the channels through which flowed the ki came nearest to the surface of the body. Some spots were more sensitive than others were, and Johnny gasped and tensed up when the sensei found a particularly painful one. "Breathe. Focus." He continued until all the points along the meridians had been manipulated.

When the sensei was done, Johnny felt like he was melted into the mat. He lay still, eyes closed, listening to his breathing, but no longer focusing. Ishii Sensei placed his hand on Johnny's abdomen, feeling the ki. "Be still. Rest."

In what seemed like an instant, but was actually half an hour later, Midori gently shook his shoulder. "Time to get up."

Johnny opened his eyes and then squinted against the afternoon sun, which seemed brighter than he had ever seen it before.

Ishii Sensei smiled and said something in Japanese to Midori.

"My father says that your ki is flowing better now. That's why the light seems so bright."

Johnny reclined against his elbows. "Oh."

Ishii Sensei said something else in Japanese.

"My father says you have good _kokoro_. Good spirit-heart."

* * *

"How's the training for the marathon going, Mike?" Johnny asked as he finished putting on his shoes.

"I think anybody who'd want to run twenty-five miles for fun must be crazy," opined Chet before Mike could speak.

"Twenty-six-point-two miles, Chet. It's going good, Johnny. Still wish you were doing it with me, though."

"Maybe another time. I'm pretty much into karate, now."

"Yeah, I can't believe you stuck it out so long. 'Course, that chick is probably a lot better looking than Mike. But you're the founding member of the hobby-of-the-week club," said Chet.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean you flit from thing to thing, week after week, and talk our ears off about how it's the greatest thing while you're doing it. You should be more like Mike, here, and shut up once in a while."

"You're not exactly in any position to be giving out advice like that, Chet," interrupted Mike.

"What do you mean?"

"Better to keep silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and confirm it," grinned Mike.

Amidst the laughter, the men headed out for roll call.

* * *

Once or twice a month, Chief McConnike stopped by unannounced to visit the various stations, usually near the noon hour, to talk with the men and to keep abreast of current conditions personally. "Smells good!" he commented appreciatively, enjoying the tantalizing smells coming from the pot Cap was stirring on the stove.

"Cap makes the best clam chowder in the department," Chet averred, getting an extra bowl for the Chief. The others vocally added their agreement while helping to put various items on the table.

"Have a seat, Chief. There's plenty," invited Cap.

"That's why I come at lunch time," grinned the Chief, pulling out a chair and seating himself. "So, how are things going? Anything unusual going on that I haven't heard about?"

Cap's paranoia got the better of him as he worriedly asked, "You've heard there's something unusual going on?" Cap set the steaming pot on the table in front of his superior officer.

"No. That's what I'm asking you, Hank."

"Everything has been going quite smoothly," replied Cap, recovering his composure. "We have our share of both easy and challenging runs. We still get the occasional false alarm and Dumpster fire, but nothing like it was last April." Cap glanced around the table at his crew, who nodded in response to his statement. Spreading his hands, Cap concluded, "We seem to be functioning normally."

"That's what I like to hear."

Cap rubbed his hands together. "Well, then. Let's eat!"

* * *

Johnny had just finished meditating with Sensei when Midori came into the room. Ishii Sensei said something in Japanese to Midori, to which she responded, 'hai.' Johnny didn't think anything of it; the sensei was not fluent in English and frequently had Midori do the translating for him.

"Johnny-san. Midori waiting."

"Huh?"

"Midori want you ask out."

"She wants to go out with me?" Johnny asked the sensei incredulously.

"Ask Midori."

Johnny obediently turned to Midori and asked, "You want to go out with me?"

She smiled and eagerly nodded her head, "Yes!"

"You do?" Like sunshine moving over the face of a mountain, illuminating the shadows and warming the stone, a smile broke over Johnny's face and shone in his eyes.

"Yes. I do."

Sensei Ishii smiled and left the two alone to discuss where they wanted to go.


	22. Chapter 22

Midori answered the door with a smile. "Hi, Johnny!" She wore a jade-green jersey dress that clung in all the right places.

"Hi, Midori." Johnny almost didn't recognize her when she answered the door. Her hair, which she always wore neatly braided in class, fell softly about her shoulders. She wore a bit of makeup as well, which enhanced her almond-shaped eyes. But what really surprised him was her petiteness. At five-feet-one, she wasn't a large woman; but the thick fabric of the bulky karate gi made her look much bigger in class. With a bemused smile, he surveyed the elfin figure who could so effortlessly take him down to the mat, his thoughts taking a decidedly non-karate direction. She was beautiful

"What?" she asked a bit uncertainly.

"Uh, nothing. I almost didn't recognize you. You look terrific without your gi." Flushing slightly, he amended, "I mean, with street clothes on."

Eyes sparkling as she laughed, Midori stepped through the doorway and pulled the door closed. "Well, you look different, too. Shall we go?"

* * *

After finding out that Johnny had never eaten Japanese food before, Midori chose a traditional Japanese restaurant, complete with tatami rooms. The kimono-clad hostess slid aside the shojito reveal a low lacquered table with cushions in front of it. A tatami mat covered the floor as well as one wall, which also bore a long Japanese hanging scroll or _kakejiku_ in a small alcove. The other two walls were made out of wood and paper. A small bonsai tree sat in one corner, adding serenity to the room. They removed their shoes and sat down, tucking their legs under them Johnny smiled. "I don't think I can kneel like this for the whole meal, Midori. You'd have to carry me out."

Midori laughed. "Well, that would be a problem. I know I can get you down to the mat, but I don't think I can pick you up."

First the server brought them an _oshibori_, a small heated towel with which to clean their hands and soon returned with some green tea along with the menus. "Let me pour the _ocha_," said Midori, reaching for the teapot wrapped in bamboo and the fragile teacups. Now we say '_itadakimasu_,' which means 'I will receive.'"

"Itadakimasu."

They sipped their tea and looked at the menu. "Hmm, let's see. You said you were a vegetarian. I think this will be good," said Midori.

"Whatever you say. I don't know anything about Japanese food except rice." A slight smile played about his lips as he watched as Midori peruse the menu, more interested in the way that the light framed her hair about her face than in the food they were going to eat.

Midori chose shiitake maki vegetable sushi for an appetizer and for the main meal, miso soup, vegetable tempura, and rice. She selected a sweet umenishiki sake to go along with it.

As they waited for the food to arrive, Johnny told Midori more about his job at Station 51 and Midori told him about growing up in Okinawa and other things Japanese. Watching the myriad of expressions flow over her face as she talked, he listened to her tales, captivated by the sound of her voice.

First the shiitake maki arrived. Cooked shiitake mushrooms sat in the center of seasoned and molded rice, surrounded by a sheet of dried seaweed. There were also small bowls of shoyu and hot mustard sauce. The server set a pair of chopsticks down beside each guest, which Johnny regarded with amused dismay. "Either I have to use my hands or get a fork. If I have to use these, we'll be here until next week sometime."

Midori laughed. "We can get a fork. But, it's okay to use your fingers for sushi. Now, let me show you how to use the hashi. It's really not that hard."

They laughed a great deal, as Johnny was not entirely successful in manipulating the chopsticks.

"I better stop before the food ends up on the floor."

"Think of them as extensions of your fingers," Midori suggested. "Anyway, the most important thing is to never stick the hashi straight up in the rice. We do that only at funerals, where the rice bowl is placed at the head of the deceased so they will have something to eat in their next life. Also, never point at anyone with hashi or wave them around too much."

"Hai," he said with a smile, watching the way her hands moved as she talked.

Next the miso soup arrived in little bowls with lids. Picking up her bowl, Midori said, "We drink the soup like this and use the chopsticks to fish out the other bits. Or, in your case, the fork. Oh, and it's okay to slurp."

"What's this?" Johnny prodded the unidentifiable objects in his soup with his fork.

"That's tofu and seaweed. Miso soup is made from fermented soybeans. Try it."

The soup tasted slightly sour, but the flavor grew on Johnny as he drank it. He laughed.

"What is it?"

"I never thought I would eat seaweed. Twice in the same meal. "

"We eat it all the time. Often we have miso soup at all meals. There are many different ways to prepare it."

"You eat seaweed for breakfast?"

"Yes. Why not?"

"Guess I just never thought of it."

"And instead of using bread to make sandwiches, we use seaweed and can put chicken or egg inside. I know the people in Hawaii like to put Spam inside. They call it musubi."

"Spam!" He laughed. "Never thought of that, either." But he would be glad to eat seaweed sandwiches if he could eat them in the company of Midori.

Next came the tempura, with more little bowls of shoyu and hot mustard sauce. The server also brought the sake in a ceramic flask, accompanied by two very small cups without handles.

"Now, for the sake, we have to fill each other's cups." First she poured some into Johnny's cup and then handed him the flask, her fingers lightly brushing his.

"It's hot!" he remarked as he poured some for Midori.

"Yes. That's the most preferred way to drink it." Midori waited until Johnny had handed her the cup. "Now we say '_kanpai_,' and drink up," she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"_Kanpai_," said Johnny as he swallowed the contents of the cup and then promptly started coughing. "Don't tell me you actually like this?" he sputtered.

"Yes, I do. But, I won't make you drink any more," she laughed, eyes sparkling. "Would you rather have beer? Asahi is nice."

"No, thanks. I think I'll stick to tea."

Dessert consisted of sweet azuki beans, again served hot, in a little cup.

"We end the meal by saying '_gochiso sama deshita_,' which means, 'thank you for the feast.'"

"Gochiso…"

"_Gochiso sama deshita_."

"Goshito somo… Thank you for the feast." Johnny smiled.


	23. Chapter 23

Johnny lay awake in bed a long time, thinking about Midori. He could have sat across the table looking at her forever. Watching the way her eyes danced when she laughed. Watching the way the light shone in her hair. Watching the way her hands moved as she talked. He had wanted to touch her. Her skin looked so soft. He huffed. He'd better just stop thinking about it, because nothing was going to happen. He gave up on sleeping and dialed the number for the crisis center, drumming his fingers on the table while he waited impatiently for the counselor named Sam to come on the line.

"What's on your mind?"

"I want to know how long it's going to take."

"How long what is going to take?"

"How long before I forget all this? How long before I'm back to normal?"

"Well, it takes most people about a year to start to feel normal again…"

"A year!" Johnny interrupted.

"I'm very sorry, but some things just can't be rushed. Or, fixed with a Band-Aid."

"Damn."

"We guys like to identify a problem, fix it, and move on. But recovering from rape is more complicated than that. It's going to take some time. Allow yourself to work through it for as long as it takes. Expect good days and bad days…"

"Yeah, yeah. I've heard some of this shrink stuff before."

"Are you seeing a psychiatrist?"

"No!" he exclaimed, horrified.

"Just asking. Not everyone needs to. What else are you thinking about?"

"Uh… I just started seeing this woman. I like her." Johnny exhaled audibly.

"I'm glad you're seeing someone you like."

"Am I ever going to feel like… uh…"

"Are you wondering about having sexual relations with this woman?"

"Yeah."

"Often after being raped, men lose their desire for a while or become temporarily impotent."

"How long?"

"It depends on the individual. I'm sorry I can't be more specific." When Johnny made no immediate reply, Sam asked, "Are you okay?"

"You know, sometimes it's like there's nothing inside."

"I know it's seems like it's taking too long to feel better. I'm sorry I can't speed things up for you."

"I just want this to be over. I just want everything to be the way it was…" His voice caught and he inhaled shakily. "I'm tired."

"I'm sorry. I know it's hard. I know it hurts. I promise, you will feel better eventually. Unfortunately, you just can't rush it. It may not seem like it to you, but I can hear a difference in you each time we talk."

"Really?"

"Really."

* * *

"Earth to Johnny…" Marco waved his hand in front of Johnny's face.

"What?" Johnny startled, looking more chagrined than frightened.

"We're hungry. When are you going to start dinner?"

"Oh. What time is it?"

"It's almost five o'clock. Better hurry up before we get a run."

"Okay, okay," he replied, starting the water boiling for spaghetti, one of the quicker meals he could prepare.

After the vegetables were chopped, he stood in front of the stove, absently stirring the simmering sauce.

Chet watched him for a while, and then started in. "Oooh, he must have it bad."

"Have what bad?" Marco always stood ready to assist Chet in a little dinner-time diversion, especially since Johnny seemed to be more like his old self of late.

Chet walked over and made a show of closely examining Johnny. "Yep. It's bad."

"Back off, Chet, unless you want sauce all over your shirt," Johnny said in mild irritation as he put down the spoon and got out the bread, butter and garlic. When Chet didn't move, Johnny added, "Make yourself useful. Turn on the oven to 350 degrees."

Chet complied and then continued his exaggerated perusal of Johnny from over by the oven. Finally Johnny couldn't stand it anymore. "What?"

"What?"

Eyes narrowed, Johnny waved the butter knife in Chet's direction. "What do I have bad?"

Chet walked over to Johnny and circled him, while looking him up and down and saying, "Uh huh, uh huh."

"Chet!"

"The love bug." Chet smirked. "I can see the bite marks all over you."

Johnny's mouth dropped open, but he remained speechless.

Marco laughed. "Is that right? Who is she?"

Busily putting the bread onto a baking sheet, Johnny mumbled, "You don't know her."

"Ah! So I was right!" crowed Chet. "Come on, pal. Give. Who is she?"

"You don't know her. We've only been out a couple of times."

"She went out with you more than once? What's wrong with her?"

"Go get lost, Chet."


	24. Chapter 24

After leaving the movie theatre, they walked around the downtown streets for a while, enjoying the warm early autumn evening.

"What would you like to do now?" Johnny asked.

"Why don't we just go to your apartment and talk? You've been to my house many times, but I've never been to your apartment."

"You want to come to my apartment?" He was nonplussed by her comment.

"Sure. Why not?"

They chatted about nothing of consequence on the drive to Johnny's apartment, which was good, because Johnny was finding it difficult to think just then.

"Um, nice apartment," Midori commented as she walked around the living room, looking at the sparsely furnished apartment.

"You want something to drink?" Johnny shifted nervously.

"Sake?" she teased.

He grinned. "Darn. Fresh out."

"Asahi?" she continued to tease.

"All I have is juice and water."

"Water is fine."

Johnny returned from the kitchen to find Midori sitting in the center of the sofa. He put the glasses down on the coffee table and sat down next to her, putting one arm across the back of the sofa. Midori moved closer, slipping in under his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. "No television?"

"No. I had one, but it broke and I never got around to replacing it. There's never much on, anyway." Was she doing what he thought she was doing?

"Mm."

He smelled the perfume gently rising from her hair; the scent of her skin drifted warmly upwards. He felt the heat from the nearness of her. His skin began to tingle. She shifted her body to face him and said his name. Her eyes darkened and her lips parted slightly. Johnny leaned closer and their breath mingled. Desire for this woman smoldered in him. As his eyes searched her face, the spark first ignited in his eyes, then flashed through the rest of his body, pulse and breath quickening. This fire was one he had not expected to feel again. His lips sought hers and she melted her body into his, arms tightening around his neck. Tasting her, he deepened the kiss, twining his fingers in her hair, feeling, no longer thinking, as the flames consumed them.

* * *

The light from the other room shed a diffuse glow upon the two glistening bodies. They lay together in the bed, limbs intertwined, listening to each other's breathing. Midori's head rested on his chest, her hair making a silken fan upon his skin. He gently threaded his fingers through the black strands. This woman awed him. He was amazed by his feelings for her.

"Mm, that was nice," she murmured.

"Yes. You're beautiful."

"And so are you."

"Not the same as you."

"I should hope not!" she said, laughing. "Ah, so many scars." Her fingers began tracing the path of one scar along his abdomen.

Johnny's hand gently captured hers, stopping the movement. "They're healing."

"Shiatsu can help them heal."

He smiled. "Are you going to demonstrate, sensei?"

Her laugh was low and throaty. "Oh, yes."

He kissed the top of her head as he held her. "So, is your father going to kill me for defiling his daughter?" The question was half-serious.

"No. He really likes you. He says you have…" she searched for the English equivalent of the Japanese phrase. "…Beginner's mind."

"Beginner's mind? What's that?"

"It's an attitude. Your heart, your mind, your spirit. You are humble. You want to learn."

"Mm," he said, shifting in the bed, his mind on something else.

"Mm, what are you doing?"

"Showing you what I just learned."

"It feels good. Don't stop."

* * *

He left the store with a sack tucked under his arm. After returning home, he changed clothes, opened the box, and put his new running shoes on. They felt pretty good on his feet. He bounced on his toes a couple of times then leaned against the wall, stretching out his calves, then turned around and bent over at the waist, letting the weight of his body stretch his hamstrings. Leaving the apartment, he ran down the stairs, and out into the hazy sunshine of a California late summer's day. His feet hit the pavement with a familiar tempo, and soon his breath and pulse joined the old, never-forgotten rhythm.

* * *

Johnny held open the car door for Midori, and she took his arm as they strolled up the front walk. The sounds of music and voices, as well as the scent of barbecue, drifted around from the back of the house. "Let's just go around," Johnny suggested.

The men of Station 51 and their families or dates filled Cap's back yard, gathered for an end-of-summer celebration. Cap himself stood at the grill, doing the honors, while the others milled about, beer in hand, talking and occasionally wandering over to give him barbecuing advice.

Johnny introduced Midori to Mrs. Stanley first, and then to the others. Midway through the introductions, a small figure launched herself at him with a delighted cry, "Uncle Johnny!"

"Hi, sweetheart!" He scooped Susan up and gave her a hug. "Susan, this is Midori. Midori, this is Susan. She's my partner Roy's daughter."

"Pleased to meet you, Susan," Midori said with a smile and a little bow.

"You like Uncle Johnny?" asked Susan.

"Yes, very much."

Roy and Joanne joined them, and Johnny introduced Midori to them. "So, you're the teacher at the karate school?" asked Roy.

"One of them, yes."

They continued making small talk while Johnny went to get something for Midori to drink. Chet nabbed him on the way back. "Well, I can see why you've been walking into walls lately. Don't know what she sees in you, though."

Johnny smiled as he walked past, saying, "Be nice to her, Chester B."

Marco heard the exchange as he came up to get a drink for his date. "Chet, that's the karate teacher. Remember what Johnny was telling us before? She can use you to mop up the floor if you piss her off."

Chet looked again at Midori. "Well, I'll be…"


	25. Chapter 25

As he drove to work, Johnny took a mental inventory of his life. It had happened over five months ago. He believed he was much better; in fact, he could almost believe it had never happened. He rarely spaced out any more. He could sometimes sleep without dreaming. He wasn't so jumpy. He no longer thought he saw Barnes around every corner. He could run again. He felt more in control. Karate had a lot to do with his recovery. Ishii Sensei had taught him a lot of things. About meditation. About respect. Recently Sensei had been talking to him about _kansha_. Gratitude. Well, he was grateful. Grateful for what he was learning, grateful for Sensei and Midori, grateful for friends. This thought brought a familiar pang of guilt, as he knew he didn't act like a very good friend to Roy. He had withdrawn from the relationship and now didn't quite know how to get back. Today he determined he would begin to find a way.

They got a run almost the minute they walked in the door. A man's anger at rush hour traffic contributed to a heart attack; fortunately for the victim, they had been able to resuscitate him and get him to Rampart well within acceptable parameters. The prognosis for the patient looked good. As they drove back to the station, Johnny took a deep breath, hoping that it wasn't too late to begin rebuilding bridges.

"Roy?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

"Uh, for what?" The non sequitur apology was confusing.

"For the way I've been acting. I've… It's… Uh… I feel kind of stupid telling you this, but, uh, I've been, uh, kind of messed up from getting mugged…" His voice trailed off as he looked out the squad window.

Roy nodded. "I've been really worried about you."

"I know. I'm better now. I'm, uh, sorry. Friends don't treat each other like that."

"You know, I didn't know what to think."

"I know. And merely saying 'sorry' doesn't… Anyway, I know I've been a pain in the ass."

"You have been a real pain in the ass, but I forgive you." Roy grinned, glad Johnny seemed to be himself again.


	26. Chapter 26

**October 1977**

It started with one or two false alarms the first shift...

Chet plopped down on the sofa with a sigh and leaned his head back. The engine crew had just returned from a real fire, putting out a garage fire that someone accidentally started while trying to barbecue. "I can't believe this guy tried to barbecue inside the garage. He had gasoline in there. People can be so stupid," he commented, eyes closed.

"Yeah," Johnny agreed, getting up off the sofa.

"What? Don't you love me any more?" Chet called after Johnny.

The paramedic turned around with a puzzled expression. "Huh?"

"Every time I sit down next to you, you get off the sofa."

"I do not!" Johnny protested irritably, then paused. "But, now that you mention it, it's your breath."

A cushion sailed through the air in Johnny's direction.

* * *

Then several more bogus calls the next shift…

Johnny left the water running as he knelt under the sink, scrubbing the floor beneath. When Marco said his name, he jumped, hitting his head on the basin. "Dammit!" he exclaimed explosively, rubbing his head. Then he turned his ire on Marco. "What do you want!"

Marco stepped back, hands held in the air. "Nothing, man. Don't bite my head off! I just came to tell you lunch was ready."

Johnny grunted and turned back to scrubbing the floor. "I'm not done here."

"Suit yourself!"

* * *

Soon it escalated exponentially to the level of three times as many false alarms as legitimate calls. Just like last April.

"Johnny! Phone's for you." Mike called over from the kitchen to Johnny, who was sweeping up in the break room.

"Hello?" There was nothing but dial tone and he slammed the phone back down. "Chet! I'm getting pretty damned tired of your practical jokes!"

"What?" asked Chet, who had just come into the room.

"There's no one on the line! This is the third time! It's not funny!" Anger flashed in his eyes.

"Hey, I didn't do it. I was in the latrine," protested Chet.

"You're lying!" Johnny took a step closer.

"It wasn't him, Johnny. I would have recognized his voice."

"Well, who was it then?" He glared at Mike.

"I don't know. He didn't say. Some guy."

"Some guy?" His anger deflated like a balloon with a large tear in it.

"Yeah, it wasn't me, Gage. You're always blaming me… Hey!" Chet yelled angrily at Johnny's rapidly retreating back.

* * *

Johnny spent the morning at Roy's house, helping him make new screens for his windows. The noon hour arrived and they didn't feel like making sandwiches for lunch, so they headed out to a fast food taco place to pick up a bite to eat. As they waited in line, a big-bellied man who had been sitting at a nearby table lurched to his feet, hands on his neck in the classic nonverbal message that said, 'Help! I'm choking!' His face was red and his lips were already starting to turn blue. Like most men, he had waited a few minutes, hoping the problem would go away, before he decided that it was something he really did need help with.

Roy and Johnny rushed over. "Hi. We're paramedics. Can we help you?"

The man nodded, panic filling his eyes.

"Can you cough?" Roy asked.

The man shook his head. Johnny moved behind him, placing one fist just above the navel and cupped the other hand around it. He gave three quick upward thrusts.

"Nothing," said Roy.

Johnny tried again. Still, whatever lodged in the man's windpipe wouldn't budge, and the man collapsed in unconsciousness. Johnny, who was prepared for such an eventuality, slowed the man's fall, sliding him down his own body.

"You behind the counter! Call the fire station!" Roy directed as Johnny eased the victim down. Roy straddled him and gave five abdominal thrusts after the man lay flat. "Check the mouth," he said to his partner.

Johnny stared down at the victim's face in mute horror. How had he failed to notice the uncanny resemblance to Barnes? The red hair? The similar facial features? Except for being a lot heavier, this man could almost be Barnes' brother.

"Johnny! Check the mouth."

Roy's voice shook Johnny out of his stupor, and responding automatically, he firmly grasped the man's jaw with one hand and used the little finger of the other to sweep the dislodged particle from the man's mouth. Leaning down, he felt and listened for the victim's breath.

"Not breathing. No pulse." Johnny tilted the man's head back to open the airway and commenced rescue breathing while Roy initiated chest compressions. Breathe, two, three, four, five. Breathe, two, three, four, five. His awareness shrank to the task he performed. When the paramedic team arrived, he heard nothing. As hands pulled him away from the victim, he felt nothing. He didn't notice Roy guiding him to sit down. The sharp smell of ammonia brought him around with a start.

"You okay now?" Roy asked with concern as he looked into his partner's eyes.

"Yeah," Johnny replied unconvincingly, scrubbing a hand over his face. Spacing out like that during a rescue procedure defied belief and struck a stinging blow at his newly recovered confidence. He jumped to his feet and fled halfway to the door before Roy could say any more.

* * *

The day was particularly stressful. The squad went on several false alarms and both Johnny and Roy were in a bad mood. The engine had five Dumpster fires to contend with. By nightfall, everyone was more than ready for bed.

The lights flashed on and the tones sounded. "Station 51. Structure fire. 900 Watsoncenter. Nine hundred Watsoncenter. Cross street Bonita. Time out 4:17."

Five men jumped out of their bunks, pulled on their turnout pants and headed for the engine bay. One man arrived from the break room.

"Station 51, KMG-365," said Cap before handing the slip of paper to Roy. The engine and the squad raced off into the night.

When they arrived at the building, they could see some smoke, but no trace of fire. A thorough search revealed a smoldering pile of rags behind the structure, but nothing else.

"Damn these false alarms!" exclaimed Cap, as he wearily climbed back into the engine.

* * *

A/N This story was written in 1999 and the American Heart Association no longer recommends using the resuscitation techniques described above.. They now recommend hands-only CPR. You can find out more by calling your local Red Cross for training or by visiting on the web.


	27. Chapter 27

Chet discovered the damage early in the morning when he went out to put something in his car before the end of the shift. At first he thought Johnny had just let the air out of his tires in a rather lame attempt at a practical joke, but closer examination revealed that the tires on everyone's car had been slashed. He charged back into the station, yelling as he ran.

"Guys! Guys! All the tires on our cars have been slashed!"

Everyone crowded out the door to survey the damage. Anger quickly replaced shock as the men viewed the malicious act. "Don't touch anything," warned Cap. "I'll call the police." The other four formed a tight circle in the parking lot, talking over each other as they discussed the nasty turn of events. Johnny stood silently, a little apart from the rest, trying not to think.

"Fat lot of good that's going to do."

"Would you look at that! I just bought new tires!"

"Think it's related to all the false alarms?"

"This is getting a little too close to home. They had to have known we were gone last night."

A few minutes later a black and white rolled up. The officer inspected the damage and then began taking statements from the firefighters. He was just finishing up by the time B-shift started to arrive. Upon being informed what had happened, the new arrivals vociferously added their opinions regarding the cowardly crime.

Shortly after the eight o'clock hour, Cap instructed his men to get cleaned up and wait for Detectives Marc Chantiny and Seth MacIntyre, the investigating officers assigned to their false alarm case, to arrive.

The detectives arrived to find both crews in the kitchen, drinking coffee, still discussing the slashed tires, the possible motive, and the string of false alarms A-shift had been experiencing. Cap shook hands with both of the detectives. "Want a cup of coffee?"

"Don't mind if I do," responded Detective Chantiny as he pulled around a chair that one of the other firefighters vacated, and straddled it, facing the men gathered in the kitchen. "Thanks," he said to Cap, accepting the coffee mug. Detective MacIntyre took his cup and leaned against the kitchen counter.

Detective Chantiny took a sip and grinned. "You boys sure make strong coffee." Looking around, he began to speak. "I'm sure you have put two and two together and are thinking that this might be related to the false alarms. It may be true, although it could also be a coincidence. The act of slashing the tires is a shift in the modus operandi. It's a lot more up close and personal..."

Just then the tones sounded. "Station 51. Traffic accident with injuries. Corner of East Carson and Almeda Blvd. East Carson and Almeda Blvd. Time out 8:25."

The men of B-shift hurriedly put down their coffee cups and headed out to the engine bay. Captain Smith finished writing down the address and said over his shoulder to Captain Stanley, "Keep us informed," as he exited the kitchen.

Those who were standing took seats at the table, pushing the abandoned mugs aside. Detective Chantiny continued, "We're dealing with a lot of unknowns, here. Is there anything you can think of that you haven't already told us? Doesn't matter what it is, or how insignificant you think it might be. Anything?"

Chantiny noticed that five of the men looked at each other, shaking their heads, while the sixth just stared into space.

"Well, if you think of anything at all, be sure to call." He handed each one of them his card. "Now, this thing with the tires may or may not be related. It could have just been some punks who saw an opportunity and took it. On the other hand, it could be the same perps who are calling in all the false alarms. Be that as it may, I want to caution you to stay more alert. Pay attention to your surroundings and to people and things that seem out of place. They may be watching you here at the station."

As the men began to file out of the station, Detective Chantiny moved to block Johnny's exit. "Mind if we talk with you for a minute, Gage?"

As Detective MacIntyre approached from where he was standing near the sink, Johnny looked back and forth between the two men, and then shrugged his shoulders and crossed his arms. "Sure."

"Have a seat." Detective Chantiny gestured back toward the table.

"Uh, is this going to take long?" Johnny remained standing in the same spot.

"That depends on what you can tell us. You look like a man with some interesting ideas about what's going on."

Johnny shook his head tightly. "No. No more than anyone else."

Detective Chantiny stared silently at Johnny, until the paramedic broke eye contact. "You sure about that?" asked the detective.

Exhaling in annoyance, Johnny replied, "Yes, I'm sure."

"Somebody's going to get hurt one of these times, Gage." Detective MacIntyre drew the paramedic's attention to him with this statement, noting the spark of anger in Johnny's eyes and the muscle twitching in his jaw.

When it became apparent that Johnny would say nothing more, Detective Chantiny curtly added, "If you think of anything, you be sure to call us."

"Are we done now?"

"Yeah. You can go." The two detectives watched the paramedic leave the room.

"He knows something," Detective Chantiny commented.

"Yeah, I think so, too. Something's got him running scared."

"I think we'd better put a tail on him."

* * *

"Call for you, Gage," Marco hollered across the engine bay to the dorm where Johnny was working.

"Okay!" He yanked the sheet off the bed, dropped it on the floor and crossed over to the station phone.

"Hello, skinny boy," the voice on the other end sneered.

Johnny's mouth dropped open. He blanched, and then reddened as the blood rushed to his face. "You've got a helluva lot of nerve calling here!"

"More than you, skinny boy. You've got no balls. Remember how I fucked you? Remember how I made you moan and shiver?"

"You go to hell!" He yanked the phone from the socket and hurled it against the opposite wall, past a very startled Marco, where it smashed into pieces.

Cap heard the crash, and came running in. "What the hell was that?" he demanded, taking in the scene of Marco standing in astonishment with his mouth open and a red-faced, trembling Gage.

"Johnny got a phone call," Marco offered somewhat helpfully, pointing to the now ruined phone.

"Lose a fight with Midori, Gage?" Chet had just arrived, seen the smashed phone and heard Marco's comment.

Ignoring Chet, Cap said, "Gage, pick that up, then come to my office."

* * *

Johnny appeared in Cap's doorway, face expressionless. Cap motioned him inside. "Shut the door," he said unnecessarily, as Johnny was already pulling it shut behind him. "Sit down." The paramedic complied. Cap leaned back in his seat and regarded the man sitting warily before him. "You want to tell me what the hell that was about?"

"Uh, no. It's kind of personal."

Cap appeared mildly taken aback by this response. He almost pursued it, but something in Johnny's face stopped him. Deciding to cut the paramedic some slack, he said, "This thing has us all a little on edge."

Johnny nodded.

"If you ever want to talk…"

"Thank you."

Cap drummed his fingers on the desk, unable to think of anything else to say. "You have to replace the phone."

"Yes, I know."

"Dismissed."

Cap steepled his long fingers before him, elbows on the desk. He tapped his lips with the tips as he thought for a moment. He couldn't help but notice a return of some of the bizarre behavior Johnny exhibited after he had been mugged last April, such as the anger, the jumpiness, the lack of appetite, and the inability to sleep. He would ask Roy's opinion before taking action.

* * *

Later in the day, Cap pulled Roy aside. "What's going on with John? Is he having a relapse or something?"

Roy thought for a moment. "Yeah, something like that. When any stressful situation arises he can re-experience symptoms from the original trauma, even though it's not related. It's like he becomes a victim all over again."


	28. Chapter 28

Fear lurked in the shadowy corners of the dorm. It crept closer as the moon shifted the patterns of dark across the room. It sat on his chest, teeth bared, eyes burning into his soul. Fear drove him from his bunk. Fear for his crewmates. Fear for himself. Slipping quietly from the dorm, Johnny brought his turnout gear to the break room, where he sat in the near dark for a long time. He could no longer deny to himself that Barnes was behind this recent spate of false alarms. This was entirely his fault and someone else might get hurt if he didn't do something. He knew what he had to do. There really wasn't any choice. Reluctantly he rose to fetch a pen and a piece of paper from Cap's office. Upon his return, he went into the kitchen and put a pot of coffee on. The white paper seemed to stare at him blankly while he waited for the coffee to be ready. When it finished brewing , he poured himself a cup and finally began writing out his resignation.

* * *

Just before the end of the shift, Johnny requested to see Cap in his office.

"Have a seat." Cap indicated the chair as he started to walk around the back of his desk.

"No, thanks. I'll stand." Johnny handed Cap a folded piece of paper.

Cap reached over for it, the premonition of what it might contain briefly flickering in his eyes. He read the short statement through and then asked, "Why, John?"

"Cap, please just accept the resignation and don't ask why," Johnny responded quietly, looking past his captain to the wall.

"Can't do it, pal. Take a seat."

After Johnny obeyed the order, Cap came back around the desk, pulling his chair behind him, then sat facing the paramedic, eyes searching for the answers to his questions. He knew Johnny was spooked by all the recent false alarms. There hadn't been any for such a long time; the last string like this had been in April, just before Johnny was beaten up. And then the false alarms suddenly stopped. Upon reaching a possible conclusion, he spoke. "What do you know that you're not telling?" When there was no answer, he guessed, "You know who's behind these false alarms?"

Johnny nodded, looking at the floor.

A phrase Roy said stuck in his mind. 'It's like he becomes a victim again.' What if Johnny actually was a victim again? Following his suspicion, he continued grimly, "This wouldn't happen to be the same guy who worked you over last April, would it?"

After a long pause, Johnny admitted, "Yeah."

"Who is it?" Cap's voice was flat and his eyes hard.

"Toby Barnes."

Cap knew about the incident at 127s, although he and Johnny had never had a reason to discuss it before now. He also knew that Barnes had been terminated from service in the fire department. "And you think if you resign, this will solve the problem?"

Johnny finally looked up at Cap. "I don't want anyone to get hurt because of me."

Cap leaned forward. "Did you ever think it may not be just you he's after? If you were to resign, what's to stop him from targeting another one of us next?"

Johnny sat back, face ashen. He had obviously not considered this as a possibility. He thought if he were no longer a firefighter, like Barnes, Barnes would be satisfied. He slowly shook his head.

"You'll talk with the police and the arson investigators?"

"Yes."

Cap nodded and made the calls. Hanging up the phone, he said, "They'll be here in half an hour. You might as well go shower and change."

The two men rose. Cap picked up the paper from the desk, re-folded it and grasped it in the middle by the thumbs and forefingers of both hands. "I can tear this up?" He asked, looking expectantly at Johnny.

"Yeah."

* * *

By the time he crossed the engine bay to the locker room, the resolve to stay and fight that he felt in Cap's office had already eroded. As if suddenly deaf, he walked past Roy to reach his locker. Whatever Roy was saying to him, he didn't hear; in fact, he didn't even hear his partner's voice over the sound of the blood in his own ears. He sat down on the bench, his fingers fumbling clumsily with the buttons on his shirt, one of them popping off and hitting the locker with a ping.

He suddenly became aware of Roy standing over him. "Give me some space, Roy," he gasped, voice strained. He splayed his trembling hands on his knees and closed his eyes. He focused on taking slow, even breaths from his abdomen. Inhale, ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku… Exhale, ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku…

He felt the warmth from Roy's body as his partner once again moved closer, and heard his voice say, "Someone's coming, Johnny." He exhaled a shaky breath and opened his eyes, scrubbing a hand over his face. He leaned into his locker, pretending to be busy rummaging with the contents as his partner stood guard over him, seeming to shield him from whoever was coming into the locker room.

"Hi, guys! What are you still doing here? Thought you'd be long gone by now," one of the firefighters from B-shift greeted, as he went to retrieve something from his locker.

"We just had some more stuff to do," replied Roy, noncommittally.

The man soon had what he sought and left the two alone again. Much more composed than he was just a moment ago, Johnny pulled his head back out of the locker and said calmly. "Roy? The detectives and the fire investigators are going to be here in a few minutes. I know who's behind the false alarms, and I'm going to be telling them. You remember me talking about a guy named Toby Barnes over at 127s?"

"Yeah. I remember. He was drummed out last December. How do you know he's the one?"

"He told me. He's the one who beat me up last April. He told me, then."

Roy stared aghast at his partner. "Toby Barnes did this? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know. He scares the hell out of me. Listen, would you, uh, would you mind coming along to Cap's office?"

"Of course I will, partner. Of course I will."

* * *

The detective's expression displayed a lack of sympathy with the paramedic's reasons for not coming forward with any information sooner. "Let me get this straight. You will testify regarding what Barnes said about the false alarms and the Dumpster fires. But you don't want to press charges of assault."

"Right."

"That's going to make your credibility questionable."

"Maybe Gage should stand down for a few shifts. Take an administrative assignment, at least until the arrest is made." The suggestion came from one of the arson investigators.

"No! Please let me keep working here!" His eyes silently appealed to Cap for help.

Cap thought a minute, then said, "I think Gage should keep working. If you stand him down, you would have to stand us all down. We don't know for certain whether he is the only target, or if we all are. The incidents seem to have been aimed at the whole crew, even though Barnes did assault him."

"I agree," said Detective Chantiny. "One, because we don't want to spook him before the arrest. And two, if it really is Gage he's after instead of the whole crew, I don't think you want to make your administrative headquarters a target. We can monitor Station 51's calls, and verify the addresses before you roll. We can also assign a plain clothes detective to watch Gage when he's off-duty, if necessary."

The meeting concluded after a few more minutes and everyone filed out of Cap's office.

As they walked out to their cars, Roy asked Johnny, "Do you want to come over? I could use some help scraping paint."

"How could it be time to scrape paint again? We just did that."

"That was the house. This is the garage."

Johnny stopped and gazed into the distance at the mountains, considering Roy's offer. "Yeah, I'll come over."

* * *

Barnes stopped short when he saw two squad cars pull up in front of the apartment building. He melted into a doorway across the street, watching, his body tense with anticipation. He soon saw the officers come back out of the building, empty-handed. His breath quickened, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Damn. He didn't think the little prick had it in him. A red haze began to rise before his eyes. He shoved it down and forced himself to remain still until after the police cars had driven off. Jaws clenched, eyes glittering with rage, he stalked down the street, heedless of whom he might bump as he walked. Oncoming pedestrians quickly moved aside when they saw him coming. Those he knocked into hurriedly apologized before backing away.

No one fucked with him like this. No one. He was going to really hurt him this time. Bad.


	29. Chapter 29

The false alarms ceased again, despite the police's inability to locate Barnes. In some ways this was more unnerving than the continual pursuit of bogus calls and every time the tones sounded, Johnny jumped. He felt as if he were in the trough between big waves, waiting for the next one to hit, never knowing if this would be the one to capsize him. His gut twisted in knots and he had a constant headache. He couldn't sleep. If he could have found an excuse to live at the station, he would have used it, as he feared going home and being alone, even with a plain clothes detective watching his apartment. Roy offered to let him stay at his home on the days off, but Johnny had declined, not wanting to involve Roy's family. The fear translated itself into anger; he wanted to take the city apart brick by brick, until he found Barnes. The whole thing made him so angry he felt like he would explode, and the others tiptoed around him like he was a nuclear device with a loose wire. Cap teetered on the brink of requiring him to take administrative leave regardless of what was previously discussed.

* * *

"Is Sam there now?"

"I'm sorry, he won't be in until after ten o'clock. Would you like to speak with someone else?"

"No. I'll call back later."

The distress evident in his voice prompted the counselor to ask, "Are you all right? Is there something I can help you with now?"

"No. That's okay."

"Would you like to leave your number so Sam can call you when he gets in?"

Johnny hesitated a moment before replying. "No. Thanks, anyway."

He hung up the phone and ran his hand through his hair, wondering how he would pass the time. As he crossed to the kitchen to scrounge up something to eat, a crash in the hallway made him jump. He glanced at the door, wishing he had gotten around to installing one of those little peep holes that obviated the need to open the door to see who was outside. Deciding that he didn't really want to know what was going on in the hall, he instead pushed a chair up under the doorknob and double-checked the lock.

The hands on the clock seemed to dawdle maddeningly as the light outside slowly faded into night. At half-past nine, he decided to shower. At ten o'clock he watched the hands make five more tortoise-like sweeps around the face of the clock before calling the crisis center again.

"Mercy General Rape Crisis Center. This is Sam. How may I help you?"

Closing his eyes in relief and sinking down onto the sofa, Johnny said, "I'm going crazy."

"What's going on?"

"He's back. I had to tell the police about him, because he… uh… it was getting dangerous for everyone else. But, they didn't catch him. I know he's out there. I can feel him out there. I want to kill him." All the anger and fear he was feeling spilled out as he talked non-stop for at least ten minutes, without repeating himself.

* * *

Concentration in karate class this day eluded him. He and a partner were practicing five-step basic sparring, in which one person presses an attack using a different technique with each step and the defender blocks the kicks and punches. His timing was off and another student had just punched him in the face.

"I'm sorry, man!" apologized the student who had accidentally hit him.

Anger flashed in his eyes for a minute before he stuffed it down. "It's okay, man. My fault. I wasn't paying attention."

They bowed to each other and began again. Johnny kept wishing for the sensei to say _yame_ so he could sit down. He wished the class were over so he could just get the hell out of there. He wondered how he could get away without meditating today. Still not paying attention to what he was doing, he got hit in the face again. "Shit!"

* * *

"Karate teach control. If angry, lose already. If calm, maybe win. Control self."

The class bowed to Ishii Sensei and started to disperse. "Come, Johnny-san." The sensei stopped him with his voice before he made his escape.

"You begin. I go." Ishii Sensei left Johnny alone to meditate. He returned several minutes later.

"Johnny-san! You no concentrate!"

Johnny eyes flew open as he jumped at the sound of Ishii Sensei's voice. Embarrassed, he looked down. "I'm sorry."

"You afraid. You angry, too."

"Hai." There was no point in denying it to the sensei, who always seemed to know more about him than he wanted to reveal.

"Good. Pay attention."

Johnny's expression seemed almost comical as he tried to figure out what Ishii Sensei meant by that.

"Ah!" the sensei huffed in frustration. "English no good. Where Midori? Pay attention. Be afraid. Be angry."

"Are you telling me that I should feel afraid and angry? I have been trying so hard to get rid of those feelings!"

Ishii Sensei held up his hand. "Wait Midori. Lie down. Shiatsu."

Reluctantly Johnny lay down. He didn't think it would do any good, since he wasn't able to concentrate on anything. But as the sensei worked to open the channels, he felt himself relaxing, felt the anxiety draining from him. He never knew when he had fallen asleep.

A hand on his shoulder woke him up with a start. His eyes flew open to see Midori's face above his. She smiled. "My father asked me to explain 'attention' to you."

"Okay." He sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"I'll try to explain. Pay attention means to experience fully without making value judgments. Whatever you feel, feel it completely, without evaluating whether or not it is good or bad, whether you want it or not. Just feel. Be the feeling. And when you do, the opposite will happen. Sorrow will no longer be so sad. Fear will no longer be so frightening. Anger will no longer be so angry. Understand?"

Johnny listened intently to Midori's explanation. He sort of understood, but he didn't really believe it.

"Go home. You try." Ishii Sensei instructed. "Hai?"

"Hai." Johnny rose to his feet and bowed to the sensei.

Midori walked with him to the doorway of the dojo. "Are we still going to the movies tonight?"

Johnny sighed. "I'm not very good company right now, Midori…I'm really sorry."

* * *

He sat on the floor in front of the sofa with his legs crossed, trying to clear his mind. Inhale, ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku. Exhale, ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku. He took a deep breath and held it. No, that wasn't right. He was supposed to inhale and exhale, not hold his breath. He tried again. Finally, he attempted to think about the rape. Allowing himself to begin to remember, he visualized the attack: Barnes holding the gun, Barnes' grinning while holding his arms wide, the whorled pattern of the cement on the floor, Barnes' booted foot, the worn, wooden butcher's block, his clothing on the floor at his feet. Reliving the attack, he began to re-experience the sensations he felt: Barnes grasping and prodding him, the weight on his back, the burning pain… He managed to stay with it for about fifteen seconds longer before he panicked, started gagging, and rushed into the bathroom to relieve himself of his sickness. Disgusted with himself, he leaned back against the wall opposite the toilet. He had tried and failed. He just couldn't do this.


	30. Chapter 30

"Squad 51. Unknown type rescue. 118 Califon St. One-one-eight Califon St. Cross street Martin. Time out 17:27."

Roy cut the siren as he pulled up to the curb. The front lawn consisted of overgrown weeds and the place looked extremely rundown and deserted. Roy turned off the engine, eyeing the structure uneasily. "This doesn't look good."

"Yeah. It looks kind of like a spook house."

"Maybe we'd better not go in." Roy noticed that the groups of trick-or-treating children going up and down the street made no attempt to approach the house at this address. "Or, at least call dispatch and get the engine to assist."

Johnny called dispatch, explained their reservations and listened while they contacted the engine, which had been out on a different run. They both listened to the radio chatter.

_"Engine 51, what is your status?"_

_"Engine 51, available."_

_"Assist Squad 51 at 118 Califon St. One-one-eight Califon St. Cross street Martin. LA County Sheriff's Department has also been notified."_

_"10-4. Instruct Squad 51 to wait for backup. ETA is ten minutes."_

The appearance of a disheveled woman on the porch helped change the two paramedics' minds about the legitimacy of the call. "Are you the paramedics?" she called, as she pushed the stringy blond hair out of her eyes.

"See? Spook house. There's the witch," Johnny muttered as he got out of the cab to open the equipment bays.

"Johnny," Roy admonished quietly before responding to the woman, "Yes, ma'am. What seems to be the problem?"

"It's, uh, my husband. He's not feeling well. Please hurry." The woman wrung her hands, her eyes darting nervously between the two men. She looked anxious and a little strung out.

Johnny reached back into the cab for the radio. "LA, this is Squad 51. We have the wife of the victim on the scene and we are preparing to treat."

As the paramedics approached bearing their equipment, the woman abruptly turned and said, "This way. He's in the garage out back."

Exchanging a wary glance, Roy and Johnny followed the woman around the side of the house and down a long stretch of weed-choked gravel, which was once a driveway. The trail led to a decrepit structure that looked like it must have been a garage at one time, before it started to decay. The door squeaked on its hinges as she pushed it open. "He's right over there," she said, gesturing into the gloom. Roy took a step closer and tried to peer through the dusty light to the spot that the woman seemed to be indicating. Both men froze as they heard the click of a shotgun bolt settling home.

"Go right inside, boys," a voice behind them sneered.

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry, Roy," Johnny said softly as the chill of recognition shot through him.

"Quit yer yappin' skinny boy, and get inside," snarled Barnes, shoving the shotgun into Johnny's back.

"When do I get what you promised me?" whined the woman. "I did what you said. I need it now."

"Shut up, bitch." Barnes fished in his pocket with his left hand. He tossed a packet over his shoulder without looking back at the woman. "Here. Now go away."

The woman scrabbled for the packet and then looked uncertainly at the two paramedics. "What are you going to do to them?"

"None of your damned business. I said 'git!'" She scurried away like a frightened mouse taking an unexpected prize to her nest.

"Stop! That's far enough. You just put that stuff down nice and easy. Turn off those handie-talkies. That's right. No sudden moves. Nobody gets hurt. Yet." He started to laugh wickedly at his own joke. He stopped just as suddenly. "Put your hands up where I can see them and don't move."

After the two paramedics complied, Barnes grinned, "So nice of you to drop by."

Roy glanced over at Johnny, whose face still registered a mixture of shock and fear. Swallowing his own fear, Roy asked nervously, "Well, we're here. What, uh, what do you want?"

"Your partner there knows what I want, dontcha skinny boy?" Barnes kept the shotgun level with Johnny's chest.

Johnny shook his head minutely. "Barnes, don't do this, man. Please don't do this."

Barnes smirked at Roy. "He'll do whatever I tell him." Still smirking, he turned his attention on Johnny. "Well, come on, skinny boy!" Barnes grinned, arms spread wide. "Make yourself comfortable. Get those clothes off."

Seeing a slight movement from Roy, Barnes immediately brought the gun back around, this time aiming at Roy, and pulled back on the hammer. "You don't move until I say so!" Then taking a step back, he pointed the barrel once again at Johnny. "Hurry up!"

Dazedly, breathing too fast, Johnny reached his hands up to unfasten his shirt as Barnes watched. He had been so afraid that this would happen. And, now it was happening. Fear made his fingers clumsy as he fumbled with the top button. Evil amusement glinted in Barnes' eyes. Johnny paused, closed his eyes and counted to himself in Japanese. Opening his eyes, he slowly lowered his hands, forcing the rising fear back down as well. "No." He knew the engine would be arriving in a few minutes. All he had to do was stall Barnes long enough.

Barnes eyes narrowed. "You grow a spine or somethin'?" He sucked his teeth. "I saw you takin' those kung fu classes. Ain't gonna do you no good. You're nothing but a coward. I whupped your sorry ass before and I'll do it again."

"You'll have to kill me first this time." He shivered a little as he said the words, knowing the high probability of just that happening. He did not want to die, but he refused to submit again without a fight.

"Oh, no, skinny boy. Not first. Second. You're gonna watch your partner die, first. But, he's gonna watch you go down on me, first. He's gonna watch you beg me, first. He's gonna listen to you scream, first. Then you're gonna watch him, before I kill him."

The words horrified Johnny and twisted his gut with fear. He knew the words were true. He knew Barnes could do all those things. The only hope lay in talking, in stalling long enough for the engine and the police to arrive, and he seized upon it desperately. Every second he could stall was one second closer to being rescued. He forced himself to speak slowly. "What are you doing, Barnes? Think about it. So far they only have you on false alarms and Dumpster fires. You know I'm not going to press assault charges. You don't want kidnapping and murder charges, man. They only got you for Dumpster fires. Walk away now, man, before it's too late."

Barnes laughed mirthlessly. "It's already too late. The minute you decided to squeal it was too late." Barnes glanced over his shoulder at Roy. "And speaking of squealing, he does that pretty good. He's a real screamer. Did he tell you about that?" Barnes laughed again, seeing the shocked realization on Roy's face, and then continued to speak to Johnny. "You see, skinny boy, I've got a record now. Didn't you wonder where I was all this time?

Johnny shook his head mutely.

"I was in jail, more thanks to you." Pointing the shotgun back at Roy, Barnes snarled, "You do what I say now, or he's dead."

"Johnny, don't!"

Barnes swung the butt of the weapon around, smashing it into Roy's face, opening a jagged gash on his cheek and knocking him to the ground. "You shut up, unless you want to be first!" He then kicked Roy in the stomach to emphasize his point, while reversing the shotgun around and pressing it against the downed paramedic's head.

Johnny started to move in on Barnes when the crazed man first began to attack Roy, but stopped as soon as Barnes held the gun to Roy's head. Barnes looked over his shoulder at Johnny and roared, "Do it, now!"

Johnny hesitated less than a fraction of a second before he started unbuttoning his shirt with a newfound calmness, the decision now simple to make. His partner's life was infinitely more important than his fear and shame in having to submit to Barnes.

"No!" Roy gasped weakly in protest, as he lay curled up on the floor.

Johnny glanced at his partner and he shook his head imperceptibly. He could live with the consequences of submitting to Barnes. He could not live with allowing Roy to die.

"Aw, well ain't that touching." Sarcasm dripped from Barnes' voice. "You two are a couple of fucking fairies." He laughed nastily. "Might be kind of fun to watch."

Rage swept over Johnny's features and he took a step closer to Barnes, hands fisted at his sides. "You are really one sick bastard, Barnes. You'd better make damned sure you kill me this time, or, I swear, I'll kill you!"

Barnes eyes narrowed again, considering the man standing before him. He wore a bemused expression on his face. Apparently this was not the reaction he expected . He tapped the shotgun against Roy's head. "Hurry up! I ain't gonna say it again, skinny boy. Take 'em off. Now."

Johnny could sense that Barnes was nearing the snapping point and didn't want to do anything to further aggravate him while the gun was pressed against Roy's head. He couldn't imagine what kept the engine from arriving already. Johnny slowly removed his uniform shirt and dropped it on the ground. He forced himself to settle down, remembering the words of Ishii Sensei. "If angry, lose already. If calm, maybe win." He spoke softly, pleadingly. "Come on, Barnes. Don't do this, man. Please. Let him go. He's bleeding." Johnny glanced at Roy, whose half-closed eyes looked unfocused; he appeared to be dazed from the blow to the head. Stretching a hand to his partner, he said, "At least let me…"

Barnes cut him off. "Quit your stalling!"

Johnny backed several steps away from Barnes and his hands trembled as he fumbled with the buckle on his belt.

Misinterpreting what appeared to be a rising fear in his victim, Barnes let the shotgun drop away from Roy's head and took a step nearer to Johnny.

"Don't do this. Please."

Barnes laughed and he closed the distance between them. "What's the matter, skinny boy? Scared?" His hands reached for Johnny's belt buckle and finished undoing it. Johnny deliberately held still, hands at his side, as Barnes touched him. Barnes laughed, seemingly pleased with the lack of resistance. He removed his hands from Johnny's waist and instead pushed on his shoulders, forcing Johnny to his knees. The look of revulsion that crossed Johnny's face made Barnes cackle again. "Do it!" Barnes froze as he heard the sounds of a siren winding down followed by tires crunching on gravel and the hissing of air brakes. "What the fuck did you do?" He bellowed, kicking Johnny in the stomach and shoving him back with a booted foot.

"Nothing. The engine rolled on the call with us," he gasped, rolling away.

Barnes brought the shotgun up over his head with both hands, intending to wield it like a club on the paramedic. Events started to move in slow motion for Johnny. Seeing an opening that looked just like something he had practiced in karate, Johnny lunged upward into Barnes, blocking with his left arm and delivering a punch with his right fist. As Barnes staggered backwards, Johnny followed with two more punches and a roundhouse kick to Barnes' face. Barnes countered by swinging the gun like a baseball bat, landing a blow on Johnny's ribs. Grinning through the blood that ran down his face from a cut above his eye, Barnes jeered, "So, you want to play rough, skinny boy?" His foot shot out and swept Johnny's feet out from under him. Johnny hit the ground as he had been taught and then quickly rolled into a crouch, eyes still on Barnes' face. Barnes once again raised the shotgun like a club over his head.

"Police! Freeze!" yelled a voice through the doorway.

Ignoring the warning, Barnes swung it down in an arc toward Johnny, who managed to dodge out of the way.

"Freeze!" came the warning once again.

Barnes raised the gun for another swing and a shot rang out, hitting Barnes in the chest, and he dropped to the floor.

Time speeded back up just then, as several police officers rushed into the building. In the confusion, Johnny grabbed the trauma box, knelt beside the semi-conscious Roy, and began to administer emergency first aid. He barely noticed when Cap and the others came in to assist him.


	31. Chapter 31

A nurses' aid carried the meal tray out of Roy's room just as Chet and Marco poked their heads through the doorway . Upon seeing Johnny already there, sitting in a chair beside the bed, the two came inside.

"Hi, guys!" greeted Marco.

"Hi, Roy, Gage." Chet smiled nervously. Visiting his work buddies in the hospital always made him uncomfortable, as it brought home the realities of the dangers they faced.

"Hi, guys!" Roy smiled stiffly around his fractured cheekbone.

"Hi." Johnny's glance flicked over the two men who had just entered the room, then settled back on Roy.

"How're you guys doing?"

"Fine. I'll be here a couple more days."

"You broke your face?" Marco asked in sympathy.

"Yeah."

Marco and Chet glanced at each other, shifted from foot to foot, and cast around for a topic of conversation, since Johnny and Roy didn't seem to have much to say. Finally Roy asked, "Who finished our shift yesterday?"

"Dwyer and Samson from 36s."

"Oh."

"Hope we don't get stuck with Brice next shift. Hey, Gage, when are you coming back?"

"Probably the shift after next."

Chet and Marco then filled them in on the rest of the Halloween shift. "Actually, it was pretty quiet. We had just one fire caused by too many jack-o-lanterns. Party decorations caught on fire. The old lady was a real witch about it. I felt kind of sorry for her husband."

"No phantom pranks?" asked Roy.

"I... uh, I guess the Phantom decided not to show up since his favorite pigeon wasn't around." Chet glanced over at Johnny, who sat ignoring them. Another long silence descended, and then Chet asked, "So, what happened yesterday?"

Roy explained about the woman they thought was the victim's wife, the garage, Barnes and the shotgun."

"How come you didn't karate chop him, Gage?" Chet wanted to know.

"You can't do much when someone is holding a gun on you," Johnny replied, while Roy spoke at the same time. "He did, just as soon as the gun wasn't pointed at me."

"You know, I've been pinned down by enemy fire in 'Nam. That was enough to make you shit your pants. But, I've never had anyone stick a gun right in my face. I don't know how you guys did it." Chet locked eyes with Johnny. "Especially you. Twice. The man was a psycho. I gotta give you credit for that."

Johnny remained silent for several long seconds before nodding at Chet.

"We're the good guys! This is not supposed to happen to us!" Marco said indignantly, hands fisted on hips.

"Yeah. It seems like we're getting shot at more and more."

"How in the world did they ever let Barnes become a firefighter in the first place?"

"Beats me."

After the conversation wound down, the others headed out of the hospital room, leaving Roy and Johnny alone to talk. Roy rested against the pillows and Johnny leaned on the wall near the door. The only sound marring the silence came from the muted pages over the hospital intercom filtering into the room. The two men looked at each other wordlessly.

"How's your face?" Johnny broke the silence.

"Fine… Johnny…" Roy began and then looked away.

"Roy." He turned back to see his partner staring intently at him. "Go ahead."

"Barnes… Uh… It wasn't the raw meat, then…" Roy couldn't bring himself to voice the horrible notion.

"Yes, it was. Partly. He took me to an abandoned meat factory over in the industrial park. The smell reminds me… Hell, whenever I think about it, I want to puke."

Roy inhaled sharply, anger flooding him. "I never thought I'd say this about someone, but I'm glad he's dead!"

Johnny's expression remained the same. "So am I. But, it's not very satisfying. It doesn't change what happened."

"How can you stand there so calmly?" Roy asked, indicating his partner with an agitated wave of his hand.

"I'm not calm, Roy. I want nothing more than to run from this room."

"Why are you still here, then?"

"Too much running. I've been running for a long time now. Time to stop."

"I'm sorry. God, I had no idea…"

"Yeah, well I'm glad you didn't. I wanted it that way. I couldn't have handled it then. Don't know if I can handle it now." His voice sounded flat and he looked away, arms tightly crossed against his chest. Their breathing filled the silence.

Roy gazed at his friend for a minute. "It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was! I made the choice!" Anger flushed Johnny's cheeks and sparked in his eyes as he looked back at Roy.

"You didn't have any choice! He had a gun."

"I had a choice. Just not many options. If I had fought him harder, either he would have killed me or maybe I would have gotten away. Either way, it would have been over and he never would have gotten you."

"What are you talking about? You can't blame yourself for this! Barnes is the one who did it! You didn't make him do it." When no answer came from his partner, who was no longer looking at him, Roy demanded, "Are you listening to me?"

"Yes."

Not knowing what else to say, Roy repeated his earlier assertion. "It wasn't your fault."

"How do you know?" Johnny again stared intently at Roy, seeming to look right through him.

"I saw the hell you went through! It wasn't your fault! You didn't ask for any of it." Roy shifted under Johnny's intense gaze, hoping that he was saying the right things, the things his partner needed to hear. "I'm sorry. Sorry it happened to you. Sorry I wasn't there to help you."

"You did help me, Roy. I already told you that. If I hadn't been so afraid…" Johnny broke both verbal and eye contact as his voice cracked and he scrubbed a hand across his face, wiping ineffectively at the tears. "Dammit." He cleared his throat and said in a husky voice. "Well, that's enough of that."

Roy, too, felt the warmth flooding his own face, the sting of tears behind his eyes, and he silently thanked Johnny for changing the subject before he himself started to cry as well. He did not want to think about all the implications of what had happened and how he felt about it yet.

Silence stretched between them once more. "Kind of a conversation stopper, eh?"

Johnny smiled briefly, then sobered. "No one else knows, Roy."

"I wouldn't discuss it with anyone else. Not even Joanne."

Johnny looked at him for a few seconds, then smiled slightly. "You can talk about it with the shrink."

"I'm not going to see a shrink."

Johnny's smile grew fractionally and he nodded knowingly. "Yes, you are. We both are. Kidnapped and injured on duty. That's trauma. Some shrink will be by to talk with you before you go home. See, I did RTFM." His eyes and voice reflected his mild amusement.

As if summoned by their conversation, Dr. Wilson, a psychiatrist with LACoFD, opened the door to their room. Seeing the expressions on the two men's faces he stated without preamble, "Looks like you got started without me. Mind if I come in?"


	32. Chapter 32

"Hi, Midori." Johnny said into the telephone.

"Johnny! I was worried about you! We missed you in class the last two days. What happened?"

"I got injured on the job. Bruised some ribs. I won't be training for a while."

"Oh my goodness! What happened?"

"Uh, some guy got a little out of control. Roy got banged up, too. He's still in the hospital."

"Is it serious?"

"No. He's got some bruised ribs and a broken cheekbone, but he'll be okay."

"No. I meant you."

"I'm fine. I'll be back at work next shift."

"I missed you. I was worried about you. Do you want some company?"

"Not tonight. I'll come by the dojo and see you tomorrow."

"Okay."

* * *

Johnny plumped the pillow on the sofa irritably and wished he had gotten around to purchasing a new television. At least the television provided some mindless amusement, and he didn't want to think right now. Just then, a knock at the door afforded a different distraction, and assuming it was probably Cap, Johnny opened the door. Much to his surprise, Ishii Sensei stood in the hallway.

Blinking in astonishment, Johnny moved aside and invited the older man to come in. He cast a glance out into the hallway. "Is Midori with you?"

"No. I see you."

"Please sit down. Can I get you something to drink?"

"No. I see you. Shiatsu. You have mat?"

Johnny thought that maybe shiatsu was not a good idea with bruised ribs. "Uh, no mat. Did Midori tell you I hurt my ribs again?"

"Hai. Midori tell. You have…?" Sensei circled his hands out in a smoothing motion.

"Uh…" Johnny tried to guess what the sensei had in mind. "You mean a blanket?"

"Hai. Blanket. You get. Put here."

Ishii Sensei waited while Johnny brought the requested item from the bedroom. Then he smiled and nodded. "You lie down." Closing his eyes in concentration, he placed both hands on Johnny's chest near the heart. "You good _kokoro_, Johnny-san. You good man. You strong man. I see fear. I see anger. I see hurt. You be fear. You be anger. You be strong."

"I didn't…"

"I know. Try later. Shiatsu now. Close eyes. Breathe."

Johnny focused on his breathing in response to the sensei's instructions. Even his ribs felt better for the man's firm touch, and he could feel the tingling exchange of energy emanating from the sensei's hands. So relaxed had he become, that he barely heard Ishii Sensei's final direction to lie still and rest, and he fell asleep before the sensei left the apartment.

* * *

"He's dead."

"How do you feel about that?"

"Relieved and mad."

"I can understand why you would feel relieved. Why don't you tell me a little bit more about why you feel angry?"

"He hurt my partner. He didn't rape him, but he threatened to, and he's still in the hospital." The words tumbled out quickly.

"I'm sorry. Is he badly hurt?"

"He'll be okay. This is all my fault. Maybe it wouldn't have happened if I had gone to the police earlier."

"It's not your fault. You told the police when it was right for you."

"Right for me, maybe, wrong for everyone else."

"You acted when you could. You handled it right."

Johnny exhaled in irritation.

"I didn't convince you."

Johnny gave a short laugh. "No."

"Please believe me when I say it's not your fault. You didn't cause any of this to happen. You have no control over someone else's actions."

"That's what my partner says."

"I agree with your partner. You are not to blame. So, does this mean you've talked with your partner about this?"

"Not exactly. We were together when it happened. And now, the department shrink knows, so, I'll have to talk with him. I don't want to talk with him."

"You were both attacked?"

"Yeah… uh, we were out on a … we were working."

"Are you okay?"

"Just some bruised ribs. He didn't, uh, didn't touch me."

"I understand that it's hard for you to talk about being raped. You might find that talking about it with someone else, like your department psychiatrist, helps you heal faster, though. Would it help you to talk about it with me, first?"

"No. I don't think I'm ready." Johnny paused before continuing to speak. "I still don't understand why this happened. Wasn't it enough to beat the crap out of me? Why rape?"

"Rape isn't about sex. It's the ultimate in terms of power and aggression. It's humiliating to get beaten up. It's even more degrading to be used sexually…"

"That's for damned sure!"

"Why do you think he might have raped you?"

"He always hated me. Hell, I think he hated everyone. I know he blamed me for losing his job, too."

"It sounds like he wanted revenge and retaliation. The nature of rage is such that he could never hurt you enough. Your pain would never have been enough for him."

"That's crazy!"

"Yes, it is."


	33. Chapter 33

Johnny sat cross-legged on the floor, back pressed against the sofa. A pot sat beside his right knee. He closed his eyes and began to breathe. Inhale, ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku. Exhale, ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku. He deliberately began to remember the rape. Every detail. What he heard. Breathing. Flesh hitting against flesh. His screams. What he saw. His hands. His blood. Barnes' face. What he tasted. Blood. Salt. Bitterness. What he smelled. Raw meat. Vomit. Barnes. What he felt. Pain. Fear. Humiliation. All coherent thought fled in the maelstrom of sensory and tactile memories. A shiver built within his chest, the trembling rippling outward to his arms and legs. His heart pounded and his lungs sucked air in little gasps. His hair became plastered to his head. Sweat dripped off his face and trickled down his neck. It ran from under his arms and poured down his back and chest. It seeped from his groin. He vomited. He cried. He thought he would lose his mind, but he stayed with it. Minutes became hours became days became months became eternities. Then he unexpectedly felt something, like a pop, and then the intensity of the feelings drained away. He opened his eyes and tried to feel the same terror and rage and shame as before, but he simply couldn't. There it was. He had been raped. He examined the event dispassionately. The rape no longer had him.

* * *

A few days later, Johnny requested to see Cap in his office once more, just before the shift change.

"I wanted to explain to you why I didn't bring all this up sooner." Johnny sat calmly in the chair.

"It's okay, John. I think I understand."

"No. No, you don't." He paused, looked away, and then looked back. "I would never do anything to endanger anyone here. I hope you know that."

Cap nodded, saying nothing, not wanting to interrupt the paramedic.

"I never said anything because ... because I thought it was over. I needed it to be over."

"It's okay, John. Nobody's blaming you for what Barnes did. He was crazy. It wasn't your fault."

Johnny nodded brusquely. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, John. I understand."

"Okay."

Cap sat at his desk for a few moments after Johnny left. He thought he understood, but something unrecognizable shone in the depths of the other man's eyes that he couldn't identify. He knew Johnny had talked with Dr. Wilson once or twice, as had Roy, and he supposed that both paramedics were doing okay. Otherwise, he would have heard something. Cap rose from his desk and rubbed his hand over his face. Being held at gunpoint didn't appear in the fine print when he signed up to be a firefighter.

* * *

"You're feeling not only the normal aftereffects of being held at gunpoint, but probably also survivor's guilt about what happened to your partner." Dr. Wilson sat in a chair near Roy's bed.

"What do you mean by survivor's guilt?"

"Even though you were not the one sexually assaulted, you were threatened and you had to watch someone you care about suffer. Now that you know the reason, you feel guilty. And probably angry."

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. It's very confusing."

"You are going to have to carefully re-examine your own thinking and feelings about rape. About who you think gets raped and why. Here's the reality: Rape is a life-threatening assault. It's a brutal act of anger. Barnes wanted to hurt someone and he chose Johnny as the target for his rage. There was nothing he could have done to stop it. Being raped is not a sign of weakness. And, surviving takes incredible strength. If you can get Johnny to talk to you, that's good. You can help him by showing him that you want to listen to him, that you still respect him. And, he can help you understand and deal with it as well."

Roy nodded.

"Now, let's talk about your feelings of guilt…"

* * *

Roy tossed and turned in the quiet dark of the dorm, thoughts of the recent horrifying events and revelations keeping him awake. As sleep eluded him, he heard Johnny's breath quicken and saw his partner jerk awake, eyes wide open in alarm. Johnny glanced over at Roy and smiled at him, before settling himself once again on the bunk. Roy heard the slow, deliberate breathing that signified his friend was meditating. Johnny's face and body appeared relaxed and soon Roy heard a return of the quiet, even breaths of sleep. Giving up on sleeping in the dorm, Roy gathered up his turnout gear to head for the break room. Maybe tomorrow he would ask Johnny about this meditation thing.

* * *

Roy and Johnny hiked up the hill behind Roy's house. Roy had been back to work for a few shifts, but they had not made an opportunity to talk until now. The two stopped on a point overlooking the valley below. Sunlight washed the valley in bright green while the shadows added a darker hue. The breeze ruffled their hair, chilling the air while the late November sun warmed the rocks upon which they sat. They sat side-by-side in silence, gazing at the view spread before them.

"I always like it up here," commented Johnny.

"Uh huh."

Johnny sat with his knees bent up at chest level, arms loosely encircling them, ankles crossed. "So. Are you ready to talk?" he asked with a hint of amusement.

Roy kept his gaze focused on the panorama before him. "This is a switch. Seems like it's been me trying to get you to talk lately."

Roy caught the flash of Johnny's grin out of the corner of his eye as his partner spoke. "That's because I'm more subtle than you are."

Roy laughed. "You're as subtle as a Mack truck, Junior."

Both men fell silent, looking out over the valley again. Roy became lost in his thoughts. He had talked about rape with Dr. Wilson and read a lot about it as well. He couldn't - didn't want to - imagine what it must have been like. He had seen just a glimpse of the pain his friend suffered. And it scared him. If something like this could happen to Johnny, that meant he, too, was vulnerable. Had not Barnes threatened him as well? Despite all that he read, the thought that you should be able to prevent something like this still lurked. He felt guilty for thinking that. Part of him was glad it hadn't happened to him. And, he felt even guiltier about that.

"What are you thinking, Roy?"

"You just never think that anything like that can happen. Not to us."

"That's what we all like to think. Unfortunately, it's not true. I don't know how often it happens, because it sure as hell isn't something we're going to bring up in the locker room. It doesn't sound good. It goes against our image of manhood. When you've been raped, you've lost it."

"Is that what you think?"

"No, not any more. I've had a long time to deal with it already. I'm learning… I don't know how to explain this. Remember this time last year, when I thought I lost my license?"

"Yeah."

"My identity was wrapped up in being a paramedic. I thought it was who I was, not what I did. I found out that wasn't true. This is kind of the same, but a lot harder. I've had to find out who I was again. From the inside, not the outside. Does that make any sense?"

"Yeah. Kind of."

They fell silent again. Then Roy spoke. "So, how are you?"

"Doing better. Although sometimes it's hard to tell." He laughed once, then started talking again. "This has been the worst thing that has ever happened to me. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Not even my worst enemy. My life is totally changed. I'm not the same man. I can never go back to the way I was. I've learned some things. And, some things I didn't want to know. I am getting better, but I could have done without this."

"What has been the hardest?"

"Probably being afraid all the time. I don't know how women do it."

"How did you get over it?"

"I don't really know. I think karate helped. Maybe you should try karate, Roy. You might like it. Bring Chris. It would be good for him, too. There are quite a few kids in the class. Lots of them are better than me." A grin accompanied this last sentence.

Maybe he would try karate and learn a little self-defense, too. "When do you go to class?"

"Four o'clock on days off, except Sundays."

"Johnny. Before the engine arrived…" Roy looked back out over the valley, leaving the sentence hanging between them.

Johnny's eyes wandered over the greens and browns of the vegetation spread below them. "Roy, I would lay down my life for you."

"I'm glad the engine got there when it did."

"Yeah."


	34. Chapter 34

Every year Chief McConnike hosted a Christmas reception for all the stations in his battalion. Cap's paranoia notwithstanding, Chief McConnike was an amiable man and enjoyed the annual opportunity to mingle with the men informally.

Chet and Marco stood at the punch bowl, getting a refill for their dates, when Johnny and Midori arrived.

"She's really good looking," Marco observed, indicating Midori with a nod of his head.

Chet looked up to see whom Marco was referring to. "Better not let your date hear that," he advised.

"I can't believe he's still with her."

"I can't believe she's still with him."

Marco laughed. "Must be some kind of record for him."

"I'll call Guinness in the morning," said Chet, picking up the two cups and heading back into the crowd, in search of his date. "Hi, Gage. Midori," he greeted in passing.

**January, 1978**

Midori was explaining certain joint twisting techniques that were very useful in freeing oneself from the grasp of an attacker. "Johnny, come demonstrate," she called. "Grab me from behind." He complied and with a quick motion she grasped his wrist, twisted out from under him, and applying pressure to the joint, forced him to the ground at her feet.

He calmly slapped the mat and said _matte_, which literally meant 'wait,' and figuratively meant 'stop now, that hurts.' Joint twisting was a remarkably effective technique for smaller people to use against larger assailants. Practice in class had to be done very carefully so as not to injure anyone and required a high degree of trust and skill. As he rose to his feet, Midori instructed the class to work with partners.

Johnny worked with a white belt woman. He had gotten his brown belt a couple of weeks ago. The role karate continued to play in his life still amazed him. 'When the student is ready, the teacher will appear,' the sensei had said through Midori.

Sensei had taught him much and he was still learning a lot:

About respect. 'Life is so hard; how can we not be compassionate?' It was a different way of reverencing himself and other people. A new way of acting on the belief that each person was no better or no worse than himself and that all life merited honor simply by being.

About attention. 'Be wherever you are, or you will miss most of your life.' Learning to live in the here and now, without making value judgments on what had happened to him required a lot of awareness. Tuning into his mind's running commentary on life afforded a sense of peace as he learned to release the belief that 'it should never have happened to him,' a belief which had only led to more suffering. Through a lot of hard effort, he had finally begun to recognize the attack for what it was, had begun to learn how to be more aware of inattentive thoughts, and to replace them with meaningful thoughts and action.

About gratitude. 'Feel the miracle of the sun on your face, see the miracle of the rainbow and be amazed.' Remembering to count his blessings every day, every minute, without believing that life should be different, that he deserved something else, became part of his life. He found a lot of joy in simple things from sunsets to smiles and in complex things such as successful rescues and well-executed kata. The many ways to be surprised by joy awed him, and he felt truly awake for the first time in his life.

About strength. 'Freedom comes from allowing no other to rule us inwardly from the outside.' That the only real power he had was over his own thoughts and actions. That true strength came from within, not from without. And that strength came from yielding, like the water, rather than resisting, and being worn away, like the rock.

About love and forgiveness. 'Consider the comforts of both anger and forgiveness. Then choose.' Learning to love and to let go of the hatred he felt for Barnes proved no easy task, but he was beginning to realize that therein lay the way to inner stillness and peace. 'Compassion that does not include the self is incomplete.' Learning to love and forgive himself seemed almost more difficult, but he continued to press on with both. And as he did, he was able to reconnect with others and to trust again.

And above all, he was learning about who he was.

He had learned a lot. The journey still stretched before him, but he traveled in his right path.

He repositioned the woman's hand on his wrist. "Don't worry about speed right now. Relax and go slowly. The rest will come later, naturally."

* * *

The paramedics were in the break room when the engine crew returned, their other station duties for the day completed. Roy sat at the table, drinking coffee and reading the paper, while Johnny lounged on one end of the sofa, studying a book. Henry snoozed in his usual spot on the other end.

Chet plopped down on the sofa next to Johnny.

"Chet!" Johnny glared in mild annoyance as the movement jostled him. "Do you have to sit down right on top of me? Move over!" Johnny made no effort to move over himself.

"Henry's in the way."

"Well, move him over! Geeze!" Johnny tried to concentrate on his book.

"Whatcha reading?" Chet leaned over Johnny's shoulder.

"Get outta here." Johnny tried to push the annoying firefighter's face away. "Hey! Give that back!"

"Hmm. _Conversational Japanese_. You guys do a lot of conversing?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh, grow up! Give me that! Her father doesn't speak much English." Johnny snatched his book back from Chet's hands.

Grinning, Chet got up off the sofa. "My work here is done."

"You are seriously demented."

* * *

As they walked to the locker room at the conclusion of the shift, Johnny was engrossed in telling Roy about the new karate technique he was learning: _Iaido_, or the art of drawing the sword. No longer studied for self-defense, but considered an art for developing self-discipline and physical strength, _iaido_ roughly translated as 'the way of being in harmony.' The goal of the student was not to overcome an opponent, but to control himself. The form appeared both beautiful and challenging, steeped in ritual and precision. Posture, movement, concentration and attention were important ingredients in practice, making the technique highly refined and gracefully spare. Some forms required two people, and the kata looked choreographed, like a dance. Beginning students used wooden swords, or _bokken_, to practice drawing, cutting, parrying and resheathing. Next, they progressed to an _iaito_, or an unsharpened metal sword similar in feel to a _katana_. Only the masters were permitted to use a _katana_, or live blade. And even then, only one student and one master would work together at a time. The katana were so sharp that merely touching the blade could slice open a hand .

"The sensei brought a katana to the dojo. It was beautiful. You should have seen the carvings on the..." As he opened his locker, a water bomb caught him full in the chest. Blinking in stunned surprised, he bellowed, "Chet!"

Chet poked his head in the locker room door. "What? Hey, Gage! What happened? You're all wet!" he said with a grin.

"Like you don't know!" Johnny pushed past him to retrieve a towel from the showers.

Roy wandered over to the showers and stood leaning against the doorway, grinning. "So, did you decide to let Chet get you?"

"Uh... yeah. Yeah, I did." The towel covered Johnny's head as he dried his hair.

Roy started laughing. "You did not! He got you, fair and square!"

Grinning sheepishly, towel draped over his neck, Johnny replied, "Yeah. I guess he did."


	35. Chapter 35

**April, 1978**

The lights flashed on and the tones sounded. "Station 51. Unknown type rescue. 815 Carson. Eight-one-five Carson. Cross street Bonita. Time out 2:35."

Three police cars were already on the scene when the engine and the squad rolled up. Two people lay facedown on the ground in cuffs. Several people milled around and some were yelling at each other as the officers tried to restrain them. A woman came running up to the window on Johnny's side of the squad. "You need to come help my friend! She's been hurt!"

"Okay, ma'am. We're coming. What seems to be the problem?"

"Billy hurt her! She won't talk to me. She's over here by the entrance." The woman dashed ahead to where her friend huddled on the ground, sobbing.

Johnny got there first. "What's her name?" he asked, opening the trauma kit. Roy set up the biophone and made contact with Rampart.

"Cynthia."

"Okay. Cynthia? Cynthia? We're here to help you." He sat down on his heels next to the hysterical woman. "Cynthia? My name is Johnny. I'm a paramedic. You're okay now. We're here to help you. Try to calm down now." He reached out a hand, but didn't make contact. "Cynthia? Will you let us help you?"

The woman gasped her consent through her sobs.

"Cynthia, I need you to take your hands off your face so I can see what's going on." He reached over to place his hands atop the woman's and gently pulled them away. "Okay, you've got a cut over your eyebrow. I'm just going to stop the bleeding, and see if you're hurt anywhere else. Then we're going to take you to Rampart Emergency, okay?" He grabbed a 4x4 out of the trauma kit and applied it to her head. "This is going to sting a little bit."

The police walked one of their arrests past where Johnny and Roy were working with the victim. When Cynthia saw him, she screamed, "Keep him away from me!" and grabbed onto Johnny's arms in a panic. He put his arms around her and rocked her gently, knowing exactly what she was feeling. "It's okay now. He's not going to hurt you anymore. You're safe now."

"He raped me!" she sobbed into his neck.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you. I'm so sorry. It's okay. You're safe now." He spoke quietly and comfortingly to her as he softly patted her back.

"Did you get any vitals, Johnny?"

He shook his head in negation as he continued talking to and holding the woman. Roy approached and asked the woman if he could take her pulse and blood pressure. "Any other injuries?" he asked as he worked.

"Cynthia? Do you hurt anywhere else?"

She pushed herself out of Johnny's arms and wrapped her arms around herself. "No. Sorry."

"That's okay." Johnny glanced up at the ambulance, which had just arrived. "We're going to transport you to Rampart Emergency now, okay?" He helped her get on to the gurney and stepped back as the attendants affixed the blankets and the straps.

Cynthia held out her hand plaintively. "Are you coming with me?"

"Yes. I'll come with you. I just need to pick up this stuff." He bent down to pick up the biophone from Roy. "Did you tell Rampart to contact a rape counselor?" he quietly asked.

"Yeah. They'll have one meet her there. You okay?"

"Yeah."

* * *

Chet moved next to Roy as the paramedic was packing up the trauma kit. "What happened?"

"She was raped."

"Man, that is so sick. I don't know how you guys handle it. I would have freaked if some chick were crying all over me like that."

"Yeah, well, Johnny is good at what he does."

"Yes, he is."

* * *

"Can't he stay with me?"

Johnny looked to the doctor for permission. The doctor nodded. "He can stay if you want him to."

"Don't leave me."

"I'll be right here. But, these are good people. They'll take real good care of you."

Cynthia started shivering as she sat upon the examination table. Johnny wrapped another blanket around her shoulders as they waited for the rape counselor to arrive. She started to cry again, leaning into Johnny for support. He gently stroked her hair and spoke soothingly, "Shh. It's okay now. You're safe now. It's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong."

A middle-aged brunette opened the door to the examination room and asked, "May I come in?"

Upon receiving permission, she walked to the examination table and introduced herself. "Hi, my name is Andrea. I'm a counselor with Mercy General Rape Crisis Center. I'm here to help you."

"Okay."

The nurse came forward with a gown and a drape sheet. "We're going to need you to put this on now, Cynthia," she said kindly.

"Cynthia, I have to leave now. These people will help you…"

"Can't he come back?" Cynthia asked the counselor with distress. Then to Johnny, "You said you wouldn't leave me!"

Glancing at Johnny, who nodded, Andrea responded, "You want him to stay with you through the examination?"

Cynthia nodded.

"Okay. We'll both be back after you get changed."

Andrea and Johnny left the room. Once in the hall, Andrea asked, "Do you know this woman?" Johnny shook his head in negation. "Have you ever done anything like this before?"

"No."

She then proceeded to brief Johnny on what to expect. The nurse poked her head out the door and motioned the two into the room.

* * *

Afterwards, Andrea stopped Johnny before he got too far down the hall. "Wait a minute!"

He turned around, with a question on his face.

"You were really good with Cynthia. We're always looking for volunteers." She handed him a card. "Can I persuade you to stop by and see what we do? And, maybe think about volunteering?" She flashed a winsome smile.

Johnny took the card and looked at it. "I'll think about it and give you a call, okay?"

"Okay!" Andrea smiled again before returning to the examination room.


	36. Chapter 36

Andrea introduced Johnny. "Hey, everybody! This is John Gage. He's a paramedic with the LA County Fire Department. He helped out with a rape victim the other night and he did so well that I invited him to come down and see what we do. And, maybe volunteer to work with us." She said the last part with a big, hopeful grin. Johnny shook hands with the others as Andrea identified each one. The last person introduced was a compact, wiry man in his late twenties with a shock of curly, brown hair, intensely black eyes and a warm, friendly smile. "This is Sam Davis. I'll let him do most of the orienting."

Johnny carefully examined Sam with his eyes as he shook hands with the man. "Pleased to meet you," he said with a sincere smile.

The two sat down at a desk as Sam showed Johnny the various manuals and forms they used, and explained their operating procedures. "Most telephone counseling is a one-shot deal. A lot of people don't call back. Especially the male victims. That is, if they even call in the first time. What guys go through is so foreign to them. There's just no frame of reference for the experience. I really feel for the ones who never call in, never get any help."

Johnny asked a lot of questions, to which Sam responded. Then, interrupting himself mid-sentence, he said, "I feel like I know you. Have we met?"

"We've never met, but you know me. I talked to you two or three times. I never did give you my name, though."

Sam searched Johnny's face and then gazed off to the left as he thought. "Keep talking."

"You really helped me a lot. I don't think I would have made it without you."

Sam's eyes snapped back to Johnny's face. "How long ago did we talk?"

Johnny smiled. "I think November was the last time."

Sam focused intently on the man sitting next to him. "How are you doing now?"

Johnny did not cringe from Sam's gaze, but met it calmly. "I'm doing really good. It's been a year, now. There's still some ups and downs, but it's mostly up."

Sam nodded. "It will always be like that. Rape is a life-changing experience. Andrea told us how you handled yourself with the victim. Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"I think so. I hope so. Like I said, you really helped me a lot. I want to give something back. Help other people with this."

Sam nodded again. "How did it feel, working with that woman?"

"I knew how she felt."

"No. Not the victim. You. How do you feel?"

How did he feel? He had lost himself. He had to re-examine all his beliefs. Every assumption he held. He had to redefine who he was. Who was he? A man who had lived through a horrible experience, but a man nonetheless. He'd been to hell and back, descended into a suffocating blackness and ascended into the air and light. How did he feel?

"I feel like a survivor."

* * *

A/N: According to the American Medical Association, a sexual assault occurs every 45 seconds. Statistics indicate that one in three women, one in four children, and one in nine men have been or will be sexually assaulted. Some feel this last number may be as high as one in six. The FBI estimates that as many as 80% of rapes go unreported. Dr. Lonnie Bristow, president of the AMA, said of all sexual assault, "This crime is shrouded in silence, caused by unfair social myths and biases that incriminate victims rather than offenders. These myths push victims into the shadows, afraid to step forward and seek help from their physicians."

Male sexual assault, both within and without of prison, is still largely unrecognized. In 1979, California amended the legal definition of rape to include gender-neutral language that would allow men to press charges for this crime. Not all states have adopted gender-neutral language into the text of their sexual assault statutes. Even the 1997 edition of Uniform Crime Reports of the United States government, published in the spring of 1999, defines forcible rape as a crime for which only women can be victims.

Sexual assault is a vicious crime of violence, anger and control that injures both the victims and those who love them. If you, or someone you love, have been a victim of sexual assault, please seek help through your physician or a rape crisis center in your area.

* * *

A/N: I don't remember where I got the "life lessons" quotes from in ch. 34. My bad.


End file.
